Memories are Made of This
by oz diva
Summary: A/U A collection of interwoven stories about Marilla and John Blythe and their extended family.
1. Chapter 1

**Memories are Made of This**

Icy wind was rushing past frozen cheeks as the sled sped down the slope. Ice crystals coated eyelashes as the sled carved its way down the hill. The passenger instinctively leant into the curve as it turned a corner. The sled was picking up speed as it hurtled down unencumbered. With a final whoosh, the sled landed in a mighty snowdrift and the exhilarating ride was over. Marilla got to her feet in an ungainly fashion and grinned at Jem who had arrived seconds earlier.

"Fun?"

"Oh yes!" She said breathlessly

"Want to go again?"

"Yes, but now we have to climb the hill again."

"Thought of that", said Gil, thinking of his mother-in-law's creaky knees, "we have provided assistance", he led the horse out. "He'll carry you back up the slope."

* * *

Marilla and John had arrived a day earlier. It was their first Christmas as a married couple and they had been invited to join the family for the holiday. They had arrived in the dead of night so as to hide their many presents from enquiring eyes. They crept quietly into the house and had a quick cup of warming tea before making their way to bed and sleep.

Next morning the children were delighted to find their grandparents at the breakfast table. Susan had been warned, so there were plenty of eggs and bacon, waffles, pancakes and porridge. It was a breakfast fit for a king.

Susan reckoned the children would be making the most of the recent snowfall by sledding all day and would need a decent breakfast to fortify themselves. Everyone sat around the breakfast table laughing and planning the day.

"The snow is deep and powdery'", said Jem, "excellent for sledding on the hill above Rainbow Valley."

"Let's go and watch, Mar." Said John.

"Oh, it'll be too cold," warned Susan.

"Yes, let's all go on a family outing" declared Anne.

Susan quickly packed a picnic and they loaded the horse with panniers full of food. They wrapped up with coats, hats, gloves and scarves and made a merry sight as they trudged through the snow. The older children dragged sleds behind them. "We could do with snow shoes," said Gil, "wait here and I'll fetch them". It delayed them slightly, but they made better headway.

The party arrived at the top of the slope. There was a lovely mostly straight track, which gently led down to a mighty snowdrift in the distance below; a perfect sledding hill. Jem said he would go first. He sat on his sled and pushed off and was away with a whoosh. The family watched in envy as he gracefully carved out a track in the virgin snow. "That's one of my favourite memories of childhood", said John wistfully. "Breaking fresh snow with your sled." Walter, Shirley, Di and Nan set off on their own sleds, slightly apprehensively in the case of Shirley and Nan, but they bravely hid their fears. John put Rilla between his legs and they pushed off too. Rilla screamed the whole way down, once they got to the bottom she immediately demanded another go. Gil gave her a piggyback up to the top, giving the younger ones a push when necessary.

"What about you, Mum? Do you want a go?" asked Jem.

"Well why not? I haven't sledded in years."

Marilla and John watched them all having fun, sliding down and trudging back up. Nan was exhausted after her latest trip up the hill and had a little rest on a blanket they had bought with them. Marilla sat with her, covering her with a rug they had bought along for just this purpose. "Was it fun darling?"

"Oh yes Aunt Marilla, it was amazing. Have you ever been sledding?"

"Not for years and years, we used to do it in Avonlea though, when I was very young."

"You should try it again."

"Well what about it Mar? asked John with a grin.

Marilla looked at him. He looked at her.

"I can't."

"Why ever not?"

"I'm too old."

John laughed at that. "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

So Marilla soon found herself whooshing exhilaratingly down the hill, her hair escaped its pins and streamed out behind her, her eyes watering in the cold wind. It was over all too soon. She was grateful to find Gil had brought the horse down to the bottom of the hill so that she didn't have to trudge back up the top. One of the benefits of being old, she supposed. On the way back up she was pleased to see John and Shirley sharing a sled ride down. They were great friends those two. After a few hours of sledding, it was determined that everyone was cold and hungry, so it was time to go back home.

It had been a wonderful day, the sort memories are made of.

* * *

There were little squeals of joy through the house the next morning as the youngest members of the household found their stockings hanging up on the mantelpiece. When Jem was very young, Anne and Gil had initiated a tradition whereby the minor gifts were placed in Christmas stockings. These could be opened by any child getting up early; with the express instruction that adults were not to be woken before daylight. Their reasoning was that it was unreasonable to make the children stay in bed on this most exciting morning, but that they themselves did not wish to get up at 6am.

The children happily spent an hour or so comparing presents and playing with their new toys. They received oranges and nuts, the boys got tinned soldiers and the girls little paper dolls.

Once the sun rose all bets were off and the children bundled into their parents bedroom, laughing and telling them what Santa had brought. "If we're lucky Santa might still be around" said Gilbert. The children were mystified. Wouldn't he be off delivering presents to other boys and girls? But Dad was right, for in their very own living room there was a bearded man dressed in red with a big sack over his shoulder.

"Santa!" Cried Nan "It's really Santa."

"Ho ho ho" said Santa. "Have you been a good little girl this year?"

"Oh I have tried to be good, Santa."

"Then I have a little gift for you."

All the children had been well behaved all year and so they all received gifts.

"And what about you young miss" Santa said to Marilla, "have you been good or naughty?" Marilla grinned and replied quietly that she had been a bit of both. Santa gave her a kiss; then turned to a smiling Anne and Gilbert "And you two lovebirds, how has your behaviour been?" They laughed and admitted that they had been disgustingly well behaved. "Oh well here's always next year" teased Santa.

"Come children, it's time to get dressed, we'll be late for church." Anne called before the children noticed that John was not around.

* * *

The little church was busy. Everyone was dressed warmly in their Sunday best. The family greeted the locals and Anne made the usual introductions to neighbours who didn't often see Marilla and John. They were asked how they were enjoying married life and their first Christmas together. John told Mrs Bryant that Marilla had been sledding the day before which thoroughly shocked that lady.

The family sat down to a massive Christmas dinner, roast turkey with all the trimmings, roasted vegetables and cranberry sauce. Susan had outdone herself. It was a delicious feast. To follow there was Christmas pudding with brandy butte, ice-cream and whipped cream. They sat around afterwards mostly replete, but still filling the odd gap with nuts and chocolate caramels. Susan ushered the exhausted children up to bed and the adults promised to come up shortly to wish them good night.

John and Marilla crept into the girls' bedroom to kiss them good night. It had been a most wonderful Christmas. "Did you ever wish that you'd had children of your own, Aunt Marilla? Di enquired. John gasped.

With a catch in her throat, Marilla stated that she was so lucky to have Anne and her grandchildren around that she never thought of it.

* * *

"But did you, Mar?" John enquired afterwards.

"Well there was a time, I admit." Marilla replied. "When Rachel was having all her babies and I was just looking on from afar. That was hard." John hugged her feeling guilty. "Oh don't be silly, John. If we had stayed together back then, we wouldn't all be here now. These beautiful children and their father wouldn't exist."

 _A/N One of my favourite photos is of my dad in his mid 60s sprawled backwards on a sled with his legs in the air with a grandchild around somewhere. He was an excellent grandfather, I just wish he'd met my kids._


	2. Chapter 2 In Sickness and In Health

**In Sickness and In Health  
**  
John rolled over in bed and stretched luxuriously. He was surprised at how late it was, it was quite light outside. Normally Marilla woke him with a caress around 6.30am. It was one of his favourite parts of the day. He glanced over to Marilla; she was still fast asleep. Her chest was rising and falling slowly, her breathing very deep and slow. John decided to let her sleep, she had been busy these last few days. He got up and went down for breakfast.

"No Mrs Blythe this morning?" Susan asked.

"She's tired. I thought I'd let her sleep."

John pottered around with the children during the morning enjoying the chance to catch up with them all. Periodically he would check in to see what Marilla was up to, she slept all morning. At lunchtime he went to see her again. He caressed her; she didn't stir. He nudged a bit harder, no response. He was getting slightly panicky now. "Marilla" he called to her, nothing. He shook her and she did briefly stir at that. "Marilla are you alright?"

"Mmm? S'tired." She lapsed back into slumber. John was worried. They had had a rigorous time with the family to be sure, but he didn't think she should be quite this exhausted. John went to find his son, thankful to have a doctor about the place.

He knocked on Gilbert's study door. "I'm a bit concerned about Marilla."

"What's the matter Dad?"

"I can't rouse her, she's been asleep all day."

"She has had a big week, Dad."

"Yes, but when I tried to rouse her she only managed to wake up briefly, I'm worried there's something wrong. Can you come and have a look." Gilbert collected his bag and followed his father up the stairs. Marilla was lying in bed asleep. Her breath was steady and slow. He checked her eyes; they were reactive.

"Marilla, wake up now." He shook her slightly. Marilla roused, looked at both men briefly and went back to sleep again.

"Hmm."

"What is it? What's wrong with her?"

"She may just be exhausted, or she may have a virus.* We should keep an eye on her. I'll fetch Anne." Anne arrived breathlessly having run up the stairs.

"Marilla" she called, "Marilla!" Marilla slept on.

"Gil what's wrong with her?"

"I'm not sure, she may just be exhausted after all that sledding and whatnot. It was pretty strenuous for a woman her age. Or…"

"Or?"

"Or she may have a viral infection in which case we have to keep an eye on her.

"Marilla", he called and shook her. She woke up and looked questioningly at him. "Marilla are you achy?"

"Wha'?" she replied drowsily,

"Do your joints ache?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are your joints achy?"

"Mmm hurt." She mumbled.

"Right, I think it is a virus. She'll need round the clock nursing. Can you and Susan manage, Anne?"

"I'll help too."

"Thanks Dad."

"What do we have to do?"

"Well I'd like to get some fluids into her. She does need to sleep though. I would like someone with her all the time. You will need to take turns. I don't want anyone else getting too exhausted and sick as well."

"I'll go first." Anne and John said simultaneously. They stopped and looked at each other.

"No you."

"No you."

"You go first, John."

"Marilla, Marilla! I want to you to have some water." Gil supported her head and tipped the water glass to her lips. She dutifully drank a couple of sips. "Dad try doing that a couple of times an hour, hydration is important."

"Anything else?"

"Just tell me if her condition worsens."

* * *

John stayed with her for a couple of hours, periodically giving her sips of water. He was worried; he loved her so much. Sitting with her gave him time to reflect on their lives together and apart. She always told him that their rift fifty years ago had been her fault, but he was just as much to blame. If he had been more patient with her, he could have saved her all that pain. She only hinted at it, even with him. But he knew that she had suffered from their separation. And the thought of her watching his life from afar, though probably not far enough was quite painful for him to ponder.

He had been aware of her living her quiet life with her parents and Matthew; and when first her father and then mother died, just Matthew. It must have been a dull life. As the years passed the Cuthbert's withdrew to their own company for the most part. They become semi-reclusive, almost hermits. John and Caroline saw them at church and occasionally out shopping, he didn't have much to say to her. What can you say to someone you used to court? And so the years passed. Gilbert was born; John got sick and took Gilbert to Alberta for the prairie cure. Still Marilla and Matthew hunkered down at Green Gables.

John was surprised when he and Gilbert returned to Avonlea to find that the Cuthbert's had adopted a girl. Apparently they had requested a boy, but the message got garbled and they ended up with a bright little red headed girl. Unbeknownst to them all it was the perfect arrangement. John wondered what Anne made of her new parents. They were old and pretty set in their ways. It must have been quite an adjustment for her. Anne certainly bought brother and sister out of their shell.

He roused Marilla to give her another sip of water, when Anne appeared to do her shift.

"Go and have some tea, John. I'll keep an eye on her. I'll let you know if anything changes."

Anne sat down beside her beloved Marilla. She carefully brushed Marilla's hair away from her face and wiped it with a damp cloth. Marilla roused momentarily at that. She murmured something indecipherable. Anne sat back down, her thoughts returning to these first weeks at Green Gables. It had been so unsettling. First of all they didn't want her and tried to give her away. Truth be told it took Anne months to feel completely safe, as if at any moment, or for any transgression she could be sent back to the asylum. She was petrified the time the amethyst brooch went missing. How do you get people who don't know you, who instinctively think you are trash, to believe you; despite evidence to the contrary?

"Marilla, time for a drink." Supporting her head, she poured some water into her mouth, "try to swallow". Some water went in, but most dribbled out. "Marilla, wake up now."

"Hmm?"

"Let's get some water into you." Irritated, Marilla batted the glass away, the water sloshed out of the glass. "Come now Marilla, be a dear and have some more, we have to keep you hydrated." Anne poured more water into the glass and tried again. Marilla took the water dutifully this time and slept again.

The bed at Green Gables was clean and warm; the food was plentiful. Matthew was loving; but breaking through to Marilla was trickier. She honestly didn't understand what she had to do to make Marilla love her. Marilla was such a stickler for manners and lacked imagination. Anne needed a mother to share her imaginative world. For a long time that person was not Marilla, but she grew to love her despite their differences.

* * *

Susan arrived, she had been asked to give Anne a rest.

"She's just had a drink, watch she doesn't protest too much next time."

While Susan sat at her bedside, Gilbert came by to examine her again. "Marilla, I'm just going to listen to your heart."

"Can she hear you?" Susan asked.

"I'm not sure, but I like to give my patients the benefit of the doubt." Gil explained.

John reappeared an hour later. "I'll sit with her Susan."

"If you're sure? Then I'll go and prepare dinner. She's due a drink."

"Marilla, sweetheart? We have to get you back to health. You and I still have some adventures to look forward to."

* * *

The four adults took it in turn to nurse Marilla for the next few days. At first it seemed hopeless as she continued to sleep throughout the day and night. She was grumpy about being woken for a drink. As time went on though, she was slowly stirring. She was awake for longer periods of time and could even manage short conversations.

On the fifth day John walked into the room to find Marilla wide awake. "Oh sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

"Tired, but not exhausted."

"Well that's an improvement."

"John?"

"Yes."

"I need to pass water, but I don't think I can manage the chamber pot."

"I'll fetch you a bedpan, I'm sure they have one in this house. Wait here."

She chuckled at that, what else was she going to do?

John ran down the stairs. Anne looked up in shock, worried by his haste. "Anne do you have a bedpan?"

"Oh, yes, of course." A relieved Anne said. "I'll just fetch it for you."

John returned to the bedroom and helped Marilla onto the pan. "Oh that's a relief."

Anne appeared in the doorway looking extremely relieved.

"How are you feeling Marilla-est of Marillas?" Marilla smiled at their old nickname.

"Better, I think. Though I'm still a bit tired."

John had given her some more pillows so she was more upright than she had been for a few days. "Are you hungry?"

"Maybe, a little."

"I'll fetch something." Anne disappeared downstairs, happy to tell Gilbert the good news.

Gilbert was the next to appear. "I hear you're feeling chirpier, Marilla. You gave us all a bit of a fright there. How are your joints feeling?

"They're fine, why do you ask?"

"You said they were painful a few days ago. Now I want you to take it completely easy for a while yet."

"What do you think I had?"

"I think you had some sort of a virus. We may never have a name for it."

Anne appeared with a bowl of chicken broth. "Here's something for you." She fed Marilla the soup a spoonful at a time. Halfway through Marilla said she'd had enough. "Tired?"

"Yes, I think I'll have a sleep now."

* * *

The next day the door opened a crack and Jem peeked in. John was sitting with Marilla. "Well hello there, Jem, will you join us?" Marilla asked. The children had been on their best behavior downstairs, they were worried about their beloved grandmother and had been told to keep the house quiet; not an easy task for six boisterous children.

"Are you feeling better Aunt Marilla?" Jem enquired.

"Yes, much better, though I don't know when I'll be going sledding again, Jem."

Jem burst into tears at that.

"Oh darling, it's alright, it wasn't anyone's fault."

"I was so worried Aunt Marilla, I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you." Jem sobbed. He threw himself onto the bed and Marilla rubbed his back.

"There, there, I'm alright now."

* * *

Anne came to sit with Marilla. "While you were ill, I thought about what it was like when I first came to Green Gables."

"Oh yes, that was a strange time wasn't it."

Anne glanced up. "Yes it was. I was so unsure of my place."

"What do you mean?"

"At first you tried to get rid of me, you remember you were going to give me to Mrs Blewett."

"Well I couldn't do it, she was not a nice woman, I thought if I went through with that plan, your face would haunt me forever."

"Then there was the amethyst brooch. You didn't trust me. I was caught in a trap."

Marilla grasped Anne's hand at that. "Yes, I was so remorseful afterwards."

"So it took a while before I could really settle at Green Gables, before I felt like it was truly home."

"Oh, I didn't realise it was so unsettling for you. I guess I thought once those things were sorted, that everything was fine."

"Not really, each time I did something stupid, like when I broke the slate over Gilbert's head or dyed my hair green, I worried that you would think I was too much trouble and send me back."

"Oh darling." Marilla squeezed Anne's hand. "I was never ever going to send you back. I'd fallen in love with you by then. I'm so sorry you didn't realise it. So when did you feel secure?"

"I think it was when you defended me against Mrs Barry when I'd gotten Diana drunk."

"Oh, not until then? Anne, I am so sorry. It never occurred to me that you felt that way for so long."

* * *

Later when John was with her again, she recounted Anne's conversation to him. "I feel just terrible that she felt so unsure of her place."

"Marilla, it's a testament to your love for her that you still feel remorse for something that happened so long ago. You can't go back and change your behavior from that time. All you can do is keep on showing your love for her now."

"I suppose so."

"I know so. We've all done stupid things in our past, but we can't go back and fix them."

Marilla knew he wasn't talking about Anne anymore. "Come here and give me a hug, what was it you said when I was sick? You and I still have some adventures to look forward to."

"I didn't know you'd heard me?"

"I didn't hear every thing, but I heard that, my love."

John climbed into bed and they fell asleep hugging one another.

* I'm not sure Gilbert would have called it this; virology was still in its infancy in the 1890s.


	3. Chapter 3 Counting Their Blessings

**Counting their blessings**

 _I'm joining in the eel dare with Elizasky, kslchen and Excel Aunt. How hard did I laugh at Elizasky's effort. If you haven't read her's you must do so.  
_  
"Spitched eels!" John exclaimed, "Oh I haven't had them since Caroline died, she used to cook them for me. They're delicious."

"I never cared for eel." Marilla replied.

"Oh you must try some of mine," exclaimed John "I'll make you change your mind." After close examination Marilla decided on the salmon. "Shall we have a bottle of French champagne?"

"Oh you'll get me tipsy" giggled Marilla.

"No matter, we only have a short walk up to our room." John reminded her.

* * *

John had organised a perfect anniversary weekend. He had booked two nights at the White Sands Hotel, which had just reopened after winter. There was a concert planned for that evening. The journey was quick and easy, but since neither of them knew White Sands well it still made for a lovely interlude. Not surprisingly given the name, the hotel was located right on the beach. Despite living on a small island, John and Marilla hadn't spent much time on the seaside. They planned to take a walk along the beach that afternoon.

 _The wind was offshore and only broke the seas surface into long silvery ripples, and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it, from every point and headland like transparent wings. The sky was faintly filmed over with scarfs of silken vapour. Silvery gulls were soaring over them. The hushed air was threaded with a murmurous refrain of mistrel winds and waves. Cloud fleets rode at anchor along the horizons.*_

They walked hand in hand along the shoreline. Marilla looked for pretty shells to show the grandchildren one day. John ran too close to the waves and had to run back suddenly lest his feet get wet. "That's it!" he exclaimed. He took his shoes and socks off and rolled his trousers up. He played in the waves and inevitably got his trousers wet when a wave came upon him suddenly. Marilla stood further up the beach watching him frolic like an eight year old lad and laughed. Suddenly John reminded her of a young Davy. Boys will be boys.

John got sand in his toes as he ran back up the beach. "Let's sit down here." They sat on the sand. "Take your shoes and stockings off Marilla, the sand feels delicious on your toes."

"I can't do that John, it wouldn't be proper."

"Oh go on, I won't tell anyone." She was tempted, it had been decades since she'd been barefoot on the sand, it was a bit of a palaver to get her stockings off. It was worth it though, as the sensation of the sand between her toes was deliciously soft. They sat there in silence for a while taking in the sight and sounds of the ocean. No other footprints, solitude. "Hmmm this reminds me of a day many years ago."

"Oh yes when I was young and stupid."

"I think we both were."

"Well it was my fault."

"Oops we better not quarrel again, I'd hate to vex you." They grinned at each other, hugged and kissed, thankful they were older and wiser now. They'd learnt the error of their ways and vowed never to be as imprudent again, there was too much to lose.

In the distance they could see another couple coming towards them. They came closer and eventually they could see that it was a man and a woman. He was wearing a cream coloured suit and waistcoat with a green striped scarf and knitted hat; for her part a great big woollen coat covered her clothes. Her neck was also covered in a scarf and she also wore a warm hat. They greeted each other "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon.

"How do you do?"

"John Blythe and this is my wife Marilla." John shook hands with the gentleman.

"Andrew Smithers, and this is my wife Constance."

Marilla smiled, "My mother was also called Constance."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

From the sounds of them, they were American. "Are you Canadian? We thought you must be because you aren't wearing heavy coats, you must be acclimatised."

"Yes we come from near here. Do you find it cold?"

"What a delightful place to live." Mrs Smithers replied.

"Yes it's freezing." Shivered Mr Smithers.

"Are you from the States?

"That's right, we come from Richmond, Virginia. We had heard how beautiful it was here so we thought we would come see for ourselves. Are you staying at the White Sands Hotel?"

"Yes, and you?"

"Yes we are too."

"Will you be attending tonight's concert?" John enquired.

"We are tonight's concert. I play the pianoforte and my wife here is a singer."

"Oh how delightful, we are very much looking forward to it, we don't get to see many musical performances here. It's a rare treat."

"Well that puts a bit of pressure on us, we hope you enjoy it."

"I'm sure that we will."

Andrew Smithers bowed politely and they continued up the beach.

John grinned at Marilla. "Fancy wrapping up that warm on such a lovely day. We've been paddling and they're freezing."

"It must get pretty warm that far south, I guess." Marilla mused.

It must be time to go back, I'd like a cup of tea. They dusted the sand off their feet and put their shoes back on for the walk back to civilisation.

* * *

After afternoon tea and a short nap in the comfort of their hotel room, they got changed for dinner. Marilla rather wished she could easily run a hot bath for herself, she felt slightly itchy after the beach. Hot running water had not made it to Prince Edward Island however and she hated to worry the maids. She did notice that sand had made it through her clothes and seemed to be everywhere. She said as much to John who laughed and said the same thing had happened to him. "I wonder where else I will find it tonight?" John teased.

"Oh you flirt." Marilla chastised him, reaching up for a quick kiss on his cheek. She did love him so.

He pulled her into a hug at that and kissed her more passionately. "Remember to breath dear."

"Hush, we'll be late for dinner."

"Can we reconvene afterwards?"

"I'm already looking forward to it, my darling."

* * *

The spitched eel met with John's hearty approval. He declared it quite as delicious as any Caroline had prepared for him. Marilla looked upon it with distaste. Some of the skin was still attached to the side of the eel like flakes of green paper. It did not look appetising. For her part the salmon was quite delicious, served with scalloped potato and a white sauce. "Here try a morsel of eel, Mar."

"Really? Must I?"

"Yes you must, you'll regret it if you miss out."

"Hmm" Marilla was quite sure she wouldn't, she was convinced her diet did not need the addition of eel. John reached out with his eel laden fork, and Marilla reluctantly took it into her mouth. She chewed.

"What do you think? Isn't it the most delicious fish you've ever tasted?"

She considered the meat inside her mouth. It was pleasingly tender and tasted like a combination of salmon and chicken. It was strange, but not disagreeable. She didn't feel she had to have more though. "It's not too bad."

"Oh" John sounded disappointed, "is that the best you can say?"

"I quite like it, but I don't think I'll steal any more of your dinner."

"I don't mind."

"No, no, that's fine."

"Your loss, all the more for me then."

This was exactly the conclusion Marilla was hoping John would reach and she smiled inwardly.

* * *

The ethereal sounds of _Casta Diva_ from _Norma_ entranced the audience in the White Sands recital hall. Marilla and John were transfixed by the unearthly sounds coming from the woman they met on the beach. How was it possible that a woman could sound so divine? They applauded with all their might. After a brief pause and a drink of water Constance Smithers next sang _Caro Nome_ from _Rigaletto_. Marilla didn't understand any of the words, as it was sung in Italian, but she understood the emotions, she could hear love in every line. The concert ended in a standing ovation. It was a rare treat indeed.

John and Marilla approached the Smithers afterwards and invited them to join them for a drink, if they wished. Mr Smithers willingly accepted. "My wife will join us shortly, she just has to recover for a moment." They all sat down in the sitting room, John ordered a bottle of champagne for them all. "So tell me about yourselves? You say you are from Prince Edward Island. Have you been married long?" Mr Smithers enquired.

"Ah well, no actually this is our first wedding anniversary."

"Your first? Goodness there must be a good story attached to that." Mrs Smithers joined their party; she had freshened up. John waved the waiter over to pour her a glass of champagne.

"Marilla and I knew each other when we were young, but we didn't actually get married to each other until my first wife died about two years ago. Then I sold my farm and we moved into her house."

"And were you married also, Mrs Blythe?"

"No, I wasn't lucky enough to get married until now."

"Are you enjoying married life?"

"Oh yes, very much so." She gazed into John's eyes and smiled at him. He reached out and held her hand.

The Smithers' decided to leave them as soon as they finished their glass of champagne; it was obvious that the lovers wanted time alone. They had been married so long that they could make this mutual decision with just a glance or two.

"Tell us about your singing, Mrs Smithers? We were very impressed, it's not often we get to hear someone of your calibre perform up here."

"Why thank you, Mrs Blythe, that is very nice of you to say. I have been singing all my life. When I met Andrew and found out he could play the pianoforte, we were a match made in heaven. Now we tour the States and occasionally come up to Canada to perform." They finished their drinks and made their excuses, claiming that they were tired.

"What an interesting and talented couple." John declared.

"Yes, I'm glad they left us alone though. I don't need any other company, I just want you, husband."

"Shall we go to bed too?"

"Yes, lets."

* * *

The next morning John luxuriously awoke and glanced over at Marilla, her beautiful blue eyes were steadily looking at him. She had been gazing at him meditating about how lucky she was. Once upon a time she thought her life was over, but then Anne arrived and woke her up and again someone unexpected had come into her life and filled it with joy. "Penny for your thoughts Mar?"

"Oh I was just ruminating on our life this year."

"Has it been good?"

"I can easily say it has been the best year of my life."

"Even better than when Anne arrived?"

"That was special, I'll admit. But having you in my life has been so joyful. I have had the most delightful year being married to you. I hope you feel the same way?"

"Oh I do wife, I do. I thought I would never be happy again after Caroline died, but look at me now."

Marilla lay on his chest and they kissed.

"Shall we try for more years together?"

"I think that's your best idea ever."

"Happy Anniversary John, you are the love of my life."

"Happy Anniversary Marilla, I love you too."

* _Anne's House of Dreams_ LM Montgomery


	4. Chapter 4 He Bindeth up their Wounds

**He bindeth up their Wounds**

"Help! Marilla! Help!"

John had slipped on a patch of slippery mud and had fallen over. He tried to get back up, but was unable to, his leg hurt too much and now he was stuck. Marilla was baking in the kitchen and didn't hear him. When Marilla failed to appear John tried again attempting to shout even louder. "Help! Help! Marilla Help!"

Marilla's head shot up. Was that a noise outside? Rubbing her hands on her apron, she went out to the door to look in the yard.

"Help! Marilla Help!"

She rushed over to the barn "John! Are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm out the back, come quickly, help!"

She found him lying stricken in the mud. "John, what's the matter? What have you done?"

"I think I've broken my leg, I can't move."

She rushed over to him feeling helpless. There was nothing she could do by herself, if she moved him it would make it worse. It was a cold day, the wind was blowing hard and there was a steady drizzle falling. John had fallen in a patch of mud just outside the barn. "What shall we do, what shall I do?" Marilla was panicking.

"Marilla you need to do something I'm getting cold here."

"Right right." She snapped out of panic mode and into practical mode "I'll go get a blanket." She rushed back to the house to get some warm things to cover him with. He would be going into shock and she didn't want him to die of hypothermia. Coming back quickly laden with stuff, she covered him with a coat, a scarf, a hat and then a blanket. "I'm going to have to go for help. Will you be all right? I'll be back just as soon as I can. I'll go to Rachel's and she can fetch someone to help us."

"Yes yes that's best" John said through gritted teeth, his leg was very painful. He felt warmer with all the clothes she'd covered him with though, and that was a relief. Marilla went back into the house to fetch a coat for herself and rushed off on foot to Rachel's house. She could rally the troops.

Marilla burst into Rachel's house calling out for her. Rachel was alarmed, Marilla usually knocked first. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes it's John; he fell over. I think he's broken his leg."

"Is he inside or out?" Rachel enquired, thinking about the terrible weather outside.

"He's just outside the barn. Getting rained on, I covered him up as best I could, but I can't move him. I need help."

"Of course you do dear. What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to get a strong man to help, maybe Davy and please fetch the doctor. I don't want to leave him for too long."

"I'll leave straightaway."

The women left in separate directions. Marilla went back to Green Gables. Rachel took her cart to fetch Davy and then to the doctor.

Marilla found John just where she had left him, a small heap on the ground. "John, I'm back. Rachel is fetching Davy and the doctor. I'll just sit and wait here with you." He was getting colder despite her covering and sliding into unconsciousness. "Try to keep awake John." She talked to him, attempting to keep him awake. "Tell me what happened? How did you fall?"

"I w-wash walkin, I washnt lookin w-w-where I w-wash goin", his words were slurring and his teeth were chattering in the cold. "I sh-shipped in thish p-p-puddle, I coul f-feel myshelf fallin, bu I couldn d-d-do anyshing to sh-shop it." He was really shivering now. Marilla lay down next to him to share the warmth. She was getting pretty cold now too.

"C'mon John you can't go to sleep on me. How about we sing a song together? Ridiculously the only song that came to mind was _Ta ra a boom de ay*_ , at least it had a catchy refrain.

 _A smart and stylish girl you see,_  
 _Belle of good society  
Not too strict but rather free  
Yet as right as right can be!  
Never forward, never bold  
Not too hot, and not too cold  
But the very thing, I'm told,  
That in your arms you'd like to hold.  
Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!  
_ _Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!  
_ _Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!  
_ _Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!_ _  
_

Davy found them there together. A distraught Mrs Rachel had summoned him. He followed the sound of the singing. It seemed such an incongruous thing, Marilla and John lying in a mud puddle at the back of the barn singing vaudevillian songs.

"Marilla", Davy cried, "I'm here."

Relief flooded Marilla at the sound of his voice. "Thank God."

"What can I do?"

"We need to get him inside, he's broken his leg and he's going into shock. It's awfully cold out here." Lifting off the blanket, Davy could see the damage, John's leg was twisted at an unnatural angle under his body.

"John, I have to warn you, this is going to hurt, a lot." Crouching down, Davy slid one arm under John's legs and the other under his back. Using his knees he straightened up, lifting John out of the mire. There was a squelching sensation, but they couldn't hear any noise over the sound of John screaming. Davy carried his stepfather into the house, following Marilla who opened the door for them. "Where shall I put him?"

"Let's put him in Matthew's room, it will make nursing him easier." Marilla walked in ahead of them and pulled the covers back. "The sheets aren't fresh, but it hardly matters right now." Davy gently deposited the cold, wet and muddy John into the bed and they pulled the covers over him.

"Should we try to clean him up a bit? Get him into some dry clothes?" Davy asked.

"I'm not sure? I hate to move him again." Marilla replied.

"C-c-cold so c-c-cold" chattered John through blue lips. That sealed it, if he was still cold they had to warm him up, even though it might hurt him. Between them they got him stripped, using scissors to cut off his trousers, and into his pyjama top. It hurt and he groaned with the pain, but he was more comfortable afterwards and glad to be out of his wet clothes.

They heard Rachel escorting the doctor in. "We're in here Rachel."

Doctor Mustard strode over to the bed. "What have you done Mr Blythe?" He pulled back the covers to assess the damage. He could see John's leg. "Nasty. Where did it happen?"

"Outside the barn, he slipped in a puddle."

"You did well to bring him inside. He wouldn't have lasted long outside in this weather. Mr Blythe I'm just going to administer some ether, or you'll scream the house down, then I'll straighten your leg. Mr Keith can you give me a hand here? Ladies if you just leave us to it, I'll need some hot water shortly."

Marilla and Rachel felt somewhat redundant and annoyed at being shunted off to the kitchen, but they did as he asked. Rachel took charge. Marilla was shocked by the days events. "Why don't you go and get changed too, Marilla? You must be chilled to the bone yourself. Marilla had hardly noticed, but now that she had time to think about it her clothes were wet and muddy too.

"You'll be alright here by yourself?"

"Of course."

Marilla ran upstairs to find a clean dress to wear. She had to strip right down, as even her chemise was wet. It took a little while, but after ten minutes or so she was feeling much better in dry, warm clothes. Rachel had boiled some water and had a pot of tea steeping on the table. "Oh, I needed that." She could feel the hot tea as it snaked down her oesophagus and into her stomach warming her up along the way. Never had a cup of tea been more welcome.

* * *

The doctor and Davy were busy in the bedroom for another half an hour. Eventually Doctor Mustard poked his head out. "Can I have some hot and cold water please?" Rachel and Marilla complied. Marilla was keen to get back to John's side. He was still unconscious.

"So what did he do to himself?" She enquired.

"He's broken his right leg quite badly. I've reset the bone and I'm just about to plaster it. He'll be out of action for quite some time, months even. I recommend you engage a nurse to help you."

"Is that necessary? I can nurse him."

"I think it is, it will be a great deal of work on your own."

"I'll think about it."

"Perhaps you would like to help me bathe him, I need to clean his leg before I plaster it." Using warm water Rachel and Marilla bathed John, removing the now dried mud. They dressed him in a nightshirt reasoning that it would make nursing him easier.

They watched in fascination as Doctor Mustard applied the sloppy Plaster of Paris. He explained that it would dry pretty quickly and provide stability for the leg, assisting the bone to knit. The doctor said John would waken soon, and that he would still be in a great deal of pain. He left Marilla some morphia powder to administer as she saw fit.

Davy left them; he had to go home. Marilla hugged and kissed him telling him how grateful they were for all his help. He really had saved John's life. John woke about an hour after the doctor left. Marilla sat by his side as he wept in pain. She administered some morphia. He subsided and fell back to sleep.

"Marilla, I think you had better rest too dear. I'll look after John." Rachel felt Marilla would need reminding to look after herself. "I think you should get a nurse as the doctor suggested. You can't manage on your own."

"Oh I don't know? I should ask Anne's advice."

* * *

Once Anne heard about John's injury she made her way over to Green Gables. She rushed in asking, "Marilla, how is he?"

"Well he's coping with the help of morphia."

"You have to be careful with it, or he'll become addicted." Anne entered Matthew's bedroom and sat at John's side. He was drowsy, but acknowledged her. "What about you? How are you coping Marilla?"

"I'm alright. The doctor thinks I should engage a nurse to help, what do you think?"

"He's right. This is a big job. You won't be able to manage the house and nursing all by yourself. A nurse can help with the less savoury bits and leave you to the loving part."

The nurse, Grace Weekly, was tall and had broad shoulders. She wore her chestnut hair in a bun; her brown eyes were warm and caring. Marilla was not too happy to have her in the house at first, but soon realised what a help it was to have her around. It was true that she had initially underestimated the workload. Minding a house and nursing a bed-bound patient was all consuming. With the assistance, she was able to snatch a few moments to herself. Miss Weekly was patient and practical. Marilla soon found herself warming to the younger woman.

* * *

John was recovering from the acute pain, so they weaned him off the morphia. This meant that he was awake for long periods of time and he was bored. Doctor Mustard advised that he would be bedbound for some weeks yet, perhaps months, as it had been a nasty break and would take a long time to heal.

Marilla sat with him for long periods every day. They grew accustomed to having Miss Weekly bustling around while they chatted. Marilla read the newspaper to John and they would discuss the events reported therein. Sometimes she read books out loud. They enjoyed Dickens, Austen and Twain. Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries kept them guessing until the very end; they particularly enjoyed trying to guess the murderer before Holmes divulged his answer. It led to some interesting discussions as they tried to sort out real clues from the red herrings.

For all that, time passed very slowly for John. He slept a great deal. Sometimes people came to visit. Anne and Gilbert bought the children by one weekend. It was wonderful to see them all, but he found the children rather exhausting. Rachel came by often, sometimes he found her incessant gossiping annoying, but she provided them with welcome local news. The Minister dropped in regularly, not just to pray, but engage John in some lively discussion, which was a much-needed distraction.

* * *

Doctor Mustard came by one day to say that he thought enough time had passed. He wanted to take the cast off. He warned John that his recovery was not yet over. His leg would be weak after months of no movement. Removing the cast was a somewhat disconcerting experience. The only way to manage it was to saw the cast in half. Once it came off, John saw his pallid leg underneath. It looked very shrivelled and thin. Doctor Mustard produced a walking stick. "You will need this to assist you, but for now you will need Miss Weekly and Mrs Blythe to help you to walk. I would like you to practise walking around the room every day and once you get stronger, around the house." Doctor Mustard helped John to his feet. John swayed, he had been recumbent for a long time and it felt very odd to be standing. The doctor held him upright for a few moments until he saw John go quite pale. Worried John was about to faint, Doctor Mustard lowered him back to the bed. Leaving instructions for Miss Weekly, he made his own way out.

Learning to walk again was a long exasperating process for John. He was frequently tempted to throw his walking stick away. Marilla was by his side every step of the way. She understood and was sympathetic to his frustration. She kept cajoling and encouraging him. "Come on John, just one more step. We have to keep on going, Doctor Mustard said…"

"Oh I could kill Doctor Mustard."

"Well you'll have to keep on at your exercise so you can get to his surgery to manage that, he lives a fair way away."

* * *

One night after a particularly gruelling day, John and Marilla were sitting by the fire. Miss Weekly had left them some days ago. They had bid her farewell with mixed emotions. It was wonderful to have their house to themselves once again, but Marilla had grown accustomed to having her company and her help. John turned to Marilla and said, "You have been amazing throughout all this, Mar. Surely you must have wanted to run away at some point. I can't be the easiest husband?"

Marilla smiled at him and took his hand in her own. "Dearest, do you remember our marriage vows, 'In Sickness and in Health'. I would have made a poor wife if I had run away at the first hurdle. You cared for me when I was ill last Christmas, and now it is my turn to care for you and it's my pleasure to do so."

* _Ta ra a boom de ay_ , author unknown


	5. Chapter 5 Where Thou Art, That is Home

**Where Thou Art, That is Home**

Marilla had been busily baking for a week, the grandchildren were coming to stay. They'd been a few times, but never for so long. There had been tentative plans for the children to come last year, but then John had broken his leg, so the trip was postponed.

At last they were on their way. Marilla had sent Davy and John in two carts to pick them up; she figured that the children alone could be transported in one cart, but with luggage added it would be a squash.

Now it was just a matter of last minute preparations, flowers in the bedrooms, checking the rooms were tidy and beds made. Of course they had been prepared days earlier, but Marilla needed to work off her nervous energy. Not that she really had anything to be nervous about; she knew the children, but she hadn't looked after them all for a long time, even Shirley was joining them this time. Last time Anne had left him with Miss Baker, why Marilla never did work out. John and Shirley were great mates and he was most insistent that Shirley come too.

Marilla checked her appearance in the mirror, her hair so long constrained in a tight bun, was now allowed some freedom and was instead in a loose bun on top of her head, just one of the small ways marriage had changed her. It made her think of her husband. She still had a slight thrill in her heart when she thought of that word 'Husband'; she had honestly thought it would never happen to her. She had really given up hope, how could she have doubted God's plan for her? If she had truly trusted in Him, she would have known that He would look after her.

They made a perfect couple now. John made her laugh, he made her feel young again and he was an attentive lover. Still there wouldn't be any of that sort of nonsense while the children were staying. They had had fun one night shortly after they were married, teasing Anne and Gilbert, but they wouldn't get up to any sort of shenanigans whilst the children were staying. She giggled as she thought back, oh how she had laughed that morning.

She walked downstairs, the house wasn't really designed for eight, but the children could share beds: the boys in Matthew's room; the twins in Anne's old room; Rilla was going to sleep with John and her. Was that the gate? She peered out the window, yes that was them at last. The children tumbled out of the cart and all spoke at once to greet her and describe their journey. It was impossible to make out one voice above the others. Marilla held up one palm to stop them. "One at a time please, I can't hear you."

"Aunt Marilla, we saw a skunk on the way." Walter blurted out.

"I hope you didn't startle it, their smell is repulsive."

"No no, we kept well away, but it was beautiful."

"Well come in now. I'll show you where you'll be sleeping. Boys, I'm putting you together in Matthew's room." She led the girls upstairs. "You twins can share Anne's room, and Rilla", she bent down to talk to her directly, "you'll be sleeping with your Grandpa John and I." Rilla smiled, feeling very lucky, she adored her grandparents. She made a face at Di and Nan.

"Come into the kitchen children I've been baking. There was lemon tart, apple turnovers, plum cake, ginger snaps and loads of fresh milk to drink. The children fell onto the lavish feast and all was silent for a while.

"Now is there anything you particularly want to do while you're here?" John asked.

"We'd like an outing to the beach, Grandpa." Jem replied.

"The beach? We don't go to the beach very often, it sounds like it could be a lovely day."

* * *

The next morning John asked the boys to join him in the barn, whilst Marilla asked the girls to help her "Rilla I'm going to put you in charge of egg collection, come with me and I'll show you." Taking a small basket, Marilla led Rilla out to the coop. "Here are the chickens", she unlatched the door and they walked in. "They always lay their eggs here." Rilla pressed close to her grandmother; she didn't like the chickens, they had scary eyes. "Now, let's see how many eggs we got today. Can you count them for me?"

Rilla pointed to each egg and counted: "One, two, three, four, five, thix."

"Well done darling. Do you think you can do this for me every morning? You might not get six every day." Rilla looked up at her Aunt Marilla and said in a very small voice that she could. "You're not frightened of them, are you Rilla?" Rilla nodded "You can ask one of the twins to help if you like."

Back in the house Rilla asked Nan if she would help her. Nan didn't like the chickens much either and refused, "or you Di?"

"No you ninny, Aunt Marilla asked you to do it."

So Rilla would have to bravely gather the eggs all by herself, she dreaded it and it kept her awake. That night Marilla heard Rilla's sobs when they came up to bed. "Darling what's the matter? Are you ill?"

"No" hiccuped Rilla, "I'm thcared of the chickenth." She lisped.

"I thought you were going to ask one of the big girls to help you."

"I did" Rilla replied in a small voice, "but they wouldn't help me."

"Oh wouldn't they?" Marilla replied grimly, hugging her.

The next morning Marilla told the twins she had a surprise for them. "Come with me girls." She led them out to the chicken coop. "I've decided to reassign everyone's duties. I think you girls should take turns collecting the eggs. If it's not your day you can muck out the manure and put it on the on the slop heap, we use it to fertilise the garden next year. Rilla's going to help me with the vegetables, would you like that Rilla?"

Rilla beamed "yeth pleath." The twins looked crestfallen, but made no noise. Aunt Marilla was a warm-hearted grandmother, but she wasn't the sort to be crossed. So Rilla was in the vegetable garden with Marilla harvesting beans, peas, pulling up carrots and picking tomatoes. She could see Di shovelling chicken manure into a bucket. Nan braved the chickens and found that morning's eggs.

One morning Marilla suggested they do some baking. They all collected around the kitchen table. "Jem do you know how to break an egg?"

"No, but I'll give it a go."

Marilla showed him the technique. The first one was a failure as Jem miscalculated how hard to hit the egg and it collapsed. "No matter" Marilla laughed, "it takes practice. "Have another go." This time Jem was much more timid and it took a few goes until he got the knack of it. "Anyone else want a turn?" Marilla enquired. Soon the kitchen was full of the sound of eggs tapping against bowls. It was messy and Marilla's cleaning heart sank just a wee bit, but it was easy enough to clean it all up afterwards. "Well done, we'll be using all these eggs this afternoon, so just keep them in their bowls."

"Walter, please fetch the flour from the pantry. Now measure four cups of flour into this basin; add those eggs and here is some butter", she placed some in the mix. Combine that with your hands, it will feel sticky at first; now we'll add a drizzle of water and mix some more." Walter mixed it. "We'll leave it to rest for a while."

"Now let's make bread. Shirley I want you to use this flour and add a pinch of salt. Now we'll mix the yeast with the warm water; take your flour and mix in the yeast mix. You can all have a go with the kneading. Shirley kneaded for a while "harder Shirley, you have to let it know who's boss," Marilla commanded. Next Jem, Di, Nan, Walter, and even little Rilla, had a turn. Marilla finished off the kneading; the children were impressed at her skill and stamina. Marilla put the dough in a bowl by the oven to rise. "You'll see in a little while the dough will have risen, it's like magic."

"Now I want to make some pies. We'll use the pastry from before." Marilla showed Walter how to roll out the dough. Of course everyone wanted a turn. Marilla kept a bit of pastry aside for that, otherwise it would be a very tough crust.

She sent all the children for a play outside after they had finished. When John appeared Marilla was sitting in the rocking chair, fast asleep. John fetched a blanket from the cupboard and left her there. When the children reappeared he shushed them and took them out to the barn. Marilla woke up later and confessed that teaching six children to cook was exhausting. He hugged and kissed her, "you mustn't overdo it darling."


	6. Chapter 6 For Those in Peril on the Sea

_Anne o'the Island challenged us to write a disaster involving water. I couldn't manage the humour part though sorry ._

 **For Those in Peril on the Sea**

The Blythe children were having a wonderful time staying with their grandparents at Green Gables. After a day spent learning to bake, they were sent to the Wright's for a most welcome visit.

"Oof, I shouldn't say I'm pleased to see them off for a few hours, but it's not easy mothering all six of them. I don't know how Anne manages it?" Marilla sighed.

"Well she is forty years younger, sweetheart, and has Susan to help. Let's have a quiet day, today." John replied. The two of them had a pleasant morning pottering around. After lunch John asked Marilla to join him for a nap. They lay in bed together relishing the peace and each other's uninterrupted company.

A promised trip to the beach took place the next day. The basket had been packed with a lavish picnic. All manner of implements, including shovels; blankets and towels were placed in the cart. Once the cart got to the beachside, everyone helped to take something down to the beach. Together Jem and Walter carried the massive picnic basket, Di and Nan carried shovels and Shirley had a stack of towels, even little Rilla helped. John had beach chairs for Marilla and himself. The girls were wearing their head to knee blue cotton swimming costumes, with stockings and hats; the boys' costumes covered their upper arms and went to just above their knees. They made a strange sort of caravan traipsing along the beach. Blankets were strewn across the sand and the picnic basket was deposited. _The sea laughed and flashed and preened and allured, like a beautiful, coquettish woman_. The sunlight _smote upon and incarnadined the shining, white, grassless faces of the sand dunes._ *

"Shall we build a sandcastle?" Jem suggested. The children all ran down to the wetter sand and started digging.

"We should build a big moat with a wall to save it from the incoming tide." Walter suggested.

"Let's decorate the towers." Nan proposed. The girls set off down the beach looking for pretty shells. Once they had collected a nice collection the girls ran back to show Marilla. "Look how pretty they are Aunt Marilla." Marilla was reclining on a chair John had thoughtfully provided. She put up a parasol to protect her face from the bright sun.

"They're beautiful girls. Won't this castle look splendid?" Walter and Shirley took turns digging a deep moat to protect the castle from the tide. John showed the girls how to dribble very wet sand through their fingers to create towers. They looked very funny, but it was fun to feel the sand drain through their fingers. Jem was building a bridge across the moat, getting exasperated for he wanted the water to pass underneath, but the sand kept collapsing.

After a time he declared he was hot and bored. "Let's go for a swim instead and wash all this sand off." The others followed suit. Marilla watched as they all ran down to the water.

"Be careful," she cried after them.

"Oh it's cold." Di, Nan and Shirley danced in the water, jumping the incoming waves, giggling all the while. Every once in a while a particularly big wave would come up to their midriffs and they would shriek with the shock.

Rilla stayed in the shallows, content to sit safely in the water and let it lap up her legs and tummy. A big wave came up suddenly and tipped her backwards. She found herself submerged briefly; when the wave receded she burst into tears. John gathered her up and took her to sit on Marilla's lap, wrapped in a big towel. "Did you get a shock darling?" Marilla comforted her.

"Yeth" sniffled Rilla. She felt safe and warm on her grandmother's lap.

As Marilla hugged her close, her maternal soul throbbed. She hated to think that this littlest grandchild would be too big to cuddle one day. All too soon for Marilla, Rilla recovered. She leapt off and ran back down the beach.

"Let's go for a swim, Walter. I want to go out really far." Walter always wanted to be a big boy like Jem so he agreed, though he had private misgivings. The boys struck out for a point in the distance. They swam through the choppy waves until they struck a calm patch. It was cold in the water, but they felt confident. Once they got out a bit, they stopped swimming and looked back treading water. Aunt Marilla looked very small sitting with her parasol on the beach. Jem waved to her and she waved back.

"John they're quite far out, do you think they will be alright?"

"Hmm, I'll tell them to come in."

John walked down to the water and called to the boys to come back. "Boys that's far enough now, time to come back in."

Jem was a bit annoyed; he wanted to swim further out, but he didn't want to annoy his grandfather. Turning around he and Walter swam for the shore. They stopped after a few minutes and were surprised to find they hadn't made any progress, if anything they were further out than before. "Did we make any headway, Jem? Walter asked.

"I'm not sure." Jem sounded a bit worried. He waved back to his grandparents. They waved back.

"Are they any closer, do you think, John?" Marilla queried.

"I don't think so." John replied. He waded out to his hips, surprised by how cold the water was. The boys continued to swim back and once again made no headway. The current was definitely against them. "I think I'll have to go and give them a hand." John declared.

"Be careful darling."

John smiled back at Marilla. "I will."

He started off swimming towards the boys. It didn't take him long to join them. "Hello boys, are you in a fix?"

"We don't seem to be able to get back to shore Grandpa." Walter was a bit panicky.

"We'll go together, just take your time. Don't panic, it will be alright."

They set off again, kicking with all their might, but they made no headway against the current. "I think we're wasting our time and energy here boys. It will be better if we just float with the current. It should deposit us back at shore eventually." It took all their resolve to do so, but eventually the current did just that. They waded back to shore about a mile down shore from the family, but around a headland.

"Your grandmother will be worried, boys."

He was right, Marilla watched her husband and two eldest grandsons drift out to sea and disappear. She was anxious for them all. "Oh girls what shall we do? What shall we do?" The girls and Shirley consoled Marilla.

"Let's walk in the same direction, weren't they going down there," Di pointed down the beach. They ran down the beach, calling out and looking desperately.

Marilla was praying as she ran. "Please God, let them be all right." Turning the corner around the point, they saw all three swimmers clamber out of the water. Marilla cried out in relief. She waspishly scolded them, as she always did when she was worried. "Jem and Walter that was so careless of you. You could have drowned and how would I have told your parents?"

"We're sorry Aunt Marilla, we thought we could come back in whenever we wanted to, but the current was too strong."

"It really was an accident, Mar." John explained.

Marilla hugged them all close and wrapped them up with towels she bought along for the purpose. "There's a nice lunch waiting for you back up the beach. Shall we go and eat it."

The men were famished after all their effort, so they eagerly made their way back up the beach.

"Were you worried?" Marilla asked John.

"Yes, I was. That current was strong, but I heard someone say the best thing to do in that situation was to let the current take you where it would, rather than fight it. Eventually it deposits you back on the shore."

"I couldn't help think of Captain Jim's Lost Margaret" Marilla replied "drifting out for ever, never to be seen again. I couldn't have borne that."

After their lunch, which was exceedingly welcome after their collective shock, the children noticed that the tide was creeping back up the shore towards their sand castle. It was all hands to the pump to save the castle from the inevitable. The wall proved useful in warding off the waves at first, but soon a bigger wave appeared and swept over the ramparts and into the moat. The children worked hard to maintain the walls of the castle against the onslaught, but eventually they had to admit defeat. Soon, nothing was to be seen of all their hard labour, except a small bump in the sand.

"Oh well, that's what happens to all sand castles in the end." John said remorsefully.

* Anne's House of Dreams


	7. Chapter 7 Hester Gray's Garden

_**Kslchen** commented what perfect grandparents John and Marilla were; I thought maybe their halos should slip just a touch.  
_  
With only a few days left of the children's visit to Green Gables, Marilla suggested a picnic in Hester Gray's garden. "Where's that Aunt Marilla?" Jem enquired.  
"It was one of your mother's favourite haunts. Hester Gray's husband built a beautiful garden for her, but a few short years later she caught consumption and died in the garden in her husband's arms. Later her husband Jordan died and he was bought back from the States to be buried next to her. It's still one of the prettiest spots on the island despite being let to grow wild for all these years."

She packed a picnic for them all and John harnessed the horse. As the horse ambled along, John commented to Marilla, "Remember the time we almost came this way when we were courting? We got caught in that terrific thunderstorm and got soaked and never made it back here together."

"Oh yes, I do remember, goodness that was a long time ago," Marilla reminisced.

"I interrupted you baking, you had a smudge of flour on your cheek."

"Did I? Did Mama let me go off like that?"

"Yes, she and I smiled over it."

"Oh" Marilla smiled thinking back to her mother.

* * *

It took an hour to travel to the garden. "I'd forgotten how far away it was, to think I initially thought we'd walk," Marilla exclaimed. The garden was still there, _a tumbledown stone dyke, overgrown with mosses surrounded it. Along the eastern side ran a row of garden cherry trees, white as a snowdrift. There were traces of old paths still and a double line of rosebushes through the middle, but all the rest of a sheet of yellow and white narcissi, in their airiest, most lavish, wind-swayed bloom above the lush green grasses.*_ The children ran off to explore.

Finally alone for a moment John patted the ground next to him "Come and sit here wife", as Marilla eased her way into the ground next to him, he pulled her across so that she landed awkwardly on his lap. "Oh we mustn't."

"Why not, it's been too long? It's not good for a married couple to be apart for so long."

Marilla giggled, it did feel nice to feel his warm arms around her. He nuzzled under her ear and slid his hand under her petticoats. She brushed him away, "not now." He persevered, his hand creeping further up her thigh as he kissed her sweet lips. "None of that John, keep your hands where I can see them." Reluctantly he moved his hand away choosing to rest it on her breast instead, he massaged it through her corset.

* * *

Nan and Di ran back up the hill to where they'd left their grandparents. "Do you think they're missing us?" Nan panted.

"Let's see," Di replied. They could just see Marilla and John through the bushes; Marilla was sitting on John's lap, her hair was down around her shoulders. They were kissing and doing other things. The girls stared, their mouths agape. They were old; they wouldn't be doing anything like that, surely? As the other children came up behind them, they joined the girls. Eventually Jem arrived, he had carried Rilla up the last bit. "What are we doing here?"

"Shhh."

"Look." He followed their outstretched fingers and look on in horror. Marilla and John kissing! They wouldn't! They couldn't!

Jem backed up a few yards and then in a loud voice said, "Oh wow, this is a beautiful garden, no wonder Mum and Dad liked it so much."

At that Marilla and John startled. Marilla slid off John's lap and rearranged her hair, quickly putting it back up in its loose bun. "Is that you, Jem?"

"Yes it's beautiful here, we saw ever so many flowers down the hill. Shirley and Walter climbed one of the trees." He prattled on telling them about their adventures. Marilla and John listened with feigned interest. The younger children were impressed with his aplomb.

The children were quiet on the ride back home, lost in thought. Marilla and John assumed they were tired after their big day and didn't press them. Once they arrived home, the children went into wash and Jem whispered that he wanted to confer in secret.

"Let's go to the barn" Di suggested. Marilla was busy in the kitchen and didn't notice them running out. The children settled in a circle in the hay.

"What did we see?" Nan enquired.

"I think they were making a baby." Di declared, "I know you have to kiss." A silence settled over the group as they considered this fact. Marilla was old, could she still have babies?

"Wh-wh-what if she does have a baby?" Rilla asked, "will she still love us?" No one had an answer for that either.

* * *

It was a quiet dinner that night. John tried to engage them in conversation, but he couldn't get much out of any of them. "Off to bed, I think", Marilla suggested, assuming they were all exhausted.

The children didn't sleep well; they were troubled in spirit. They loved their grandparents and didn't want anything to change.

When the children were still subdued at breakfast Marilla began to worry. "What's the matter darlings? Are you feeling ill?" She touched Shirley's forehead worried that he had a fever.

"It's just..."

"Um."

"Ah."

"Are you having a baby?" Nan blurted out.

Marilla was shocked. "A baby? What ever gave you that id? ... Oh."

She glanced at John. "No, we're not having a baby. Did you see Grandpa and I yesterday?"

The children nodded collectively.

"All of you?"

Another nod.

"Oh. Well when grown-ups like each other they kiss sometimes, but that's all we were doing."

"I heard you had to kiss to make a baby," Di declared

"Yes, ahem, kissing is part of it, but there's more besides, which you will learn about when you are older." Marilla certainly didn't want to be the bearer of those tidings.

"In any case, John added, "Marilla is too old to make babies anymore. Women can only make babies for a few decades and then they can't anymore, so you see there was never any chance that we'd be adding to our family."

"We were worried that you were having another baby, and you wouldn't love us any more Aunt Marilla", Shirley sobbed.

"Not love you anymore? Why would I stop loving you?"

"Because if you had your own baby you'd be too in love with it, and you'd forget about us." Nan observed.

"Oh darlings, even if I could have another baby, I'd never love you any less, there's plenty of room in our hearts for everyone."

The children smiled at that.

"Are you hungry again now?"

After a big breakfast they all ran out to play.

John looked at Marilla, Marilla looked at John and they laughed and laughed. "Oh the poor little mites. Fancy me having a baby at this stage of life."

"Couldn't think of anything worse."

Marilla looked shocked,

"I don't mean that way, Mar. I just wouldn't want anyone to get between us, I like living just with you. The children can come and visit, but I don't want them to stay forever."

She hugged and kissed him then. Their life was perfect just the way it was.

* Anne of Avonlea


	8. Chapter 8 Lang May Yer Lum Reek

**Lang May Yer Lum Reek***

Her grey hair, loosely tied with a ribbon was sailing out over her shoulders; her blue dress was likewise whirling in circles. She felt lighter than air; her feet were tripping over themselves in an effort to go faster faster faster. They were dancing, dancing to the lively music. Oh it was divine. There were masses of people around them all dancing, all laughing.

They had ventured out on a cold New Year's Eve to the Avonlea ceilidh* a local New Year's Eve tradition. John and Rachel were conversing at the side of the dance hall. John's dancing days were sadly over, an unfortunate hangover from his broken leg the previous year. Rachel had determined that ladies of her age no longer danced. Marilla disagreed and was having a marvellous time. She curtsied to her dance partner and joined the other two breathlessly. John went to fetch her some punch. "I might need two cups." She called after him. He nodded as he left.

Rachel looked up at her disapprovingly. "You'll do yourself a mischief, Marilla, that's what. All this dancing at your age."

Marilla grinned at her friend. "Life is a journey not a destination, Rachel." John returned with the punch and Marilla drank it down thirstily.

"It's time!" Someone yelled out above the crowd. "It's nearly midnight."

They all cried in unison "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Happy New Year!" The crowd linked arms in a circle and sang

 _Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
And never brought to mind?  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
And auld lang syne._

 _For auld lang syne, my jo,  
For auld lang syne._  
 _We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,  
For auld lang syne_ _ **.****_

"It's time to go home, I'm a bit worried about the weather." John said, "It's snowing again." They had already had several inches that day and now big fat flakes were falling out of the sky again. John fetched the sleigh and drove them home quickly, through a rising blizzard. "I think you had better stay with us for the night Rachel."

"Oh that's not necessary." Rachel replied, she was looking forward to her own bed.

"I think it might be, just in case." John pressed.

John pulled up at the Green Gables front door and the ladies bundled in. He took the horse around to the barn, unharnessed it, rugged it and made sure it had plenty of food and water. By the time he had finished the snow was getting quite deep for his walk back to the house. He hoped Marilla had a pot of something warm on the stove for him.

Marilla did indeed have a hot tea waiting for him, for which he was exceedingly grateful. Looking at him as he came in, Marilla remarked that it must have still been snowing pretty hard. "Yup." John agreed "and it's pretty cold too. We best hunker down here for a while. I'm pleased you're safe with us Rachel. I wouldn't be happy if you were on your own."

Marilla was warming bricks in the oven to take to bed. "John can you make a fire in the spare room for Rachel, please."

"Yes, and I'll bank the stove."

The three of them went to bed after all the chores were completed.

Rachel lay in bed and reflected on how much married life had changed Marilla. There was no way she would have danced at a ceilidh before she married John, it was as though she had lost ten years.

Lying in their bed Marilla turned to John, and stroked his cheek, "I wish it had been you I was dancing with."

"I know dearest. I did enjoy watching you though; you looked so carefree. I'm cold, come over here." Marilla joyfully tucked her head under his arm and hugged him across his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

They woke up the next morning to a clear, white world. The blizzard had abated for the time being. Marilla was thankful that her father had built the barn roof to be sturdy as it had about two feet of snow resting upon it. There were large white mounds in the yard where usually trees stood. Snow had drifted up to the side of the house, so that when John attempted to open the front door, he could not do so. "Uh, oh. Looks like we'll be here for a while." The women looked out onto the yard. They were used to blizzards, but it wasn't often that they were snowed in, even in the depths of winter.

"Never mind, we're warm and dry in here and we've got provisions set aside." Marilla stated. "What shall we have for breakfast?"

"It's the animals I'm worried about." John replied. I hope they're warm and their water hasn't frozen. "I should go out there and check that they're alright."

"Be careful John, can you use your snow shoes?"

"I think they're out on the porch, where I can't get to them."

"How will you get out?" Rachel asked. This was a good question, John ended up climbing out a window.

"Quick close it again, keep the warm air in."

John sank into a snowdrift almost immediately. Marilla gasped, but he quickly clambered out and began stomping a track out to the barn. The snow was deep and fluffy, so creating a track out to the barn was hard labour. Eventually John reached the barn door and it was relatively easy to clear out the snow. He walked in and checked the cows and the horse. They look happy enough. He gave them some more hay and checked the water butt. The air in the barn was cold, but far warmer than outside. The cow looked pleased to see him, he thought he had better milk her.

The milk started to freeze on the way back to the house. He bought a shovel with him, in case he needed it later. Big black clouds were massing; he guessed more snow would be falling soon.

John couldn't find the door, so he climbed up to the window and knocked. Marilla rushed over to let him in.

"Oh you must be frozen, come in, come in."

"Here's some frozen milk and I'll leave the shovel here. It's going to snow again."

"More?" Rachel was shocked, even by island standards this was a big storm.

Marilla put the milk by the stove to thaw; it was a frozen block already.

He took off his coat, hat and scarf and left them to dry by the stove.

* * *

"John, we need more wood for the fire."

"I'll fetch some." This was easier said than done, as the wood was stacked on the veranda. Taking the shovel, John clambered out the closest window and shovelled his way out to the veranda. He handed the wood through the window to Marilla and Rachel; they left it drying by the fire.

"Well what should we do now?"

They spent the day reading old newspapers, discussing world events and chatting about whom they'd seen the night before at the dance. "I'm sure you made an impact, Marilla." Rachel commented dryly. Marilla smiled.

John took her hand and said, "That's my girl."

"Do you need some space?" Rachel enquired, honestly these two were like newly-weds, even after all this time.

"No, no. I'll get some dinner for us all."

Marilla fetched some boiled pork, and warmed up some water to boil potatoes. She felt she had better ration the food to some extent; who knew how long they'd be holed up. "Sorry it's so basic."

"No, no, that's fine, we had better be careful hadn't we." Rachel reassured her. "We could do some baking tomorrow." Marilla doubted she'd ever let Rachel Lynde into her kitchen, but she was happy for her to watch.

Another night passed with warm bricks in their beds.

The next morning was a repeat of the first, except the snow was deeper. John found it harder to get out to the barn.

Marilla gathered ingredients together to make a pie. When Rachel offered to help, she replied that too many cooks spoiled the broth, but she would be pleased to have her company.

"I put more salt in myself." Marilla looked at her. She had been making dough for 70 years and knew how much salt to add. Rachel pouted. "Alright, I know my place, this isn't my kitchen." Marilla placed the pie in the oven and stoked the fire.

"How's the wood holding up? Do you think we'll need more?"

"We should be fine for a while yet."

The nights were long; the sun rose late and set early. They settled into a routine. Not as much snow was falling now, but it was still extremely cold. They just had to wait for the thaw.

One morning Davy came by on a sleigh, "Just checking on you folks, are you alright?" He hugged Marilla and Rachel and shook John's hand. "I'm pleased to see you're here Rachel, we were worried you were at home all alone."

"How's everything outside Davy?" John enquired.

"There's deep snow, I reckon we got about four feet in some places, not counting drifts. It's heavy going for horses and men. Everyone seems happy to see me, but they're alright."

Eventually after another three days, the weather became brighter and the temperature began to warm up. John managed to bash the door open, and cold, fresh air came into house once again. Rachel and Marilla stepped outside; they could hear the thawing snow running in rivulets down to the creek. "Oh it feels good to be out of the house." Rachel exclaimed. "Thank you for looking after me. John can you take me home?"

John hitched the horse to the sleigh and took her home again. Her house was cold, but dry. He lit the stove for her, warming the house up as he left. She waved bye bye as he set off back to Green Gables and his lovely wife.

* Long may your chimney smoke or may you have a long and healthy life  
** Scots for 'a dance'  
*** Auld Lang Syne, Robbie Burns

A/N I feel a bit presumptuous writing a blizzard scene, as I've never experienced one myself. I have no idea if four feet in one storm is a lot or not.


	9. Chapter 9 Forty Whacks

**Forty Whacks***

It was a warm day in June when Rachel, panting from exertion, burst into the Green Gables kitchen calling "Marilla! John! She got off! Lizzie Borden got away with it, have you ever heard the like? Those Yankees must be crazy, that's what."

All year Rachel had been sharing the latest explosive updates of the Borden case. It started in August when the Borden family was killed with an axe.

Marilla and Rachel had been sitting in Rachel's kitchen sharing a pot of coffee, as Rachel perused the American newspaper her daughter had sent her. Rachel liked to scandalize herself with the tales of events in America as if to prove to herself how terrible those Yankees really were.

"Oh, this is interesting." Marilla barely looked up from her coffee, Rachel had a habit of saying things like that about the most mundane matters. "A venerable citizen and his wife hacked to pieces in their home. Fancy that Marilla?"

Rachel continued to read out loud: "The community was terribly shocked this morning to hear that an aged man and his wife had fallen victims to the thirst of a murderer, and that an atrocious deed had been committed. The news spread like wildfire. The deed was committed at 62 Second Street, where for years Andrew J Borden and his wife had lived in happiness."

"Please don't read the whole grisly tale out to me Rachel. Just skim it and give me the details." Marilla admonished. Rachel always went too far with these stories.

There was a pause as Rachel read the story, occasionally she would blurt out salient facts. "It is supposed that an axe was the instrument used. Oh Marilla, fancy."

Marilla looked shocked, "that would have been messy."

"It was, listen, 'his face was hacked to pieces.'" Marilla winced. "Mrs Borden was struck on the temple."

"Oh dear Lord." Marilla felt a bit faint. "Who could commit such a terrible crime?"

"It says no weapon was found and there was nothing about the house to indicate who the murderer might have been. Though there was a Portuguese man working on the premises. Oh those foreigners, you can't trust them."

"Their daughter heard a heavy fall and rushed into the house, the servant didn't hear anything. Oh listen, the family had been ill for some time, perhaps as a result of poisoning, the authorities are checking the milk. Well I never, Marilla. Did you ever hear the like?"

"No I never have, thankfully."

Rachel read the story through again more carefully and declared, "Well those Yankees have outdone themselves this time, that's what. This is the most heathen story I've heard yet. I hope they catch the fellow who did it."

"It may be a woman, Rachel."

"Oh, surely not. A woman wouldn't be so depraved."

* * *

A couple of days later Rachel came to visit Green Gables, another newspaper in hand.

"I have more news about the Borden case, Marilla."

"I was telling John about it, Rachel."

"I don't doubt it. Well they still have no idea about who the perpetrator was."

"Fancy" murmured Marilla.

"Apparently Miss Borden has changed her statement slightly about the timing. I wonder if that's significant?"

"Hmm" Marilla mused. "Maybe so."

"Oh it says here that a Mr John Morse was visiting that day, he was Mr Borden's first wife's, brother. He says he visited and that Mr Borden was feeling ill. The medical examiner says that death must have been instantaneous."

"Oh that's a blessing." Marilla replied.

"The family has offered a reward of $5000 for the detection of the murderers."

"Goodness, they must be wealthy!"

The ladies drank their coffee, but found it hard to wrench their thoughts away from the grisly case. All conversations strayed back to that house on Second Street, Massachusetts.

* * *

A week later there was a surprising development.

"It's her, Lizzie did it! She's been arrested." Marilla opened the door for a shocked Rachel who was waving the latest newspaper around.

John walked into the parlour intrigued at the news. "What?"

"This is the New York Times, 'Miss Borden arrested. Charged with murdering her father and his wife.'"

"Oh goodness gracious me. And we thought there was no way a woman could have committed those heinous acts." Marilla exclaimed.

"Well she hasn't been to trial yet. Innocent until proven guilty, remember." John rebuked.

* * *

Marilla peeked out the window and saw Rachel coming up the road with newspaper in hand. She was hankering after the latest developments. "Here she comes, John. I think the hearing must have commenced." The court was determining whether Lizzie could be tried for murder.

"Is there any news?" John enquired curiously, once Rachel was sitting down. Normally he didn't get caught up in murder trials, no matter where they were conducted, but this one had everyone intrigued. Even up at the store, it was all anyone was talking about. Marilla had received a letter from Anne just that week in which it was discussed; apparently they were intrigued about it down at the Glen too. He wouldn't be surprised if it were the main topic of conversation up and down North America.

Rachel read, "The first week of the hearing is over. The District Attorney's efforts to encircle her with a web of circumstantial evidence – lack of definite evidence – her remarkable coolness. She pleads not guilty. Well she would, wouldn't she?"

"Her demeanor is unusual surely, do you think it an admission of guilt, John? I would be in pieces." Marilla stated.

"It's hard to say, but it does seem strange."

Rachel read, "The District Attorney says he is well satisfied with the development of the web of circumstantial evidence which he is endeavoring to weave about Lizzie Borden." She read the rest of the article, which outlined the prosecution's case. "Well I can't see how she could get off on the basis of that."

"Remember that's just the prosecution's side of the story, Rachel. She has the right of defense." John replied.

"Humph, seems pretty clear to me." Rachel determined.

"I would say the lack of motive is a problem for the prosecution. Why did she kill them?" Marilla mused.

* * *

The following June after a great deal of worldwide and local speculation the trial opened. Not surprisingly Rachel, Marilla and John were following the events along with everyone else. Rachel reading, exclaimed, "Lizzie Borden fainted! She was overcome by the prosecution's story."

"Oh the poor woman." Marilla was conciliatory, "What a terrible ordeal for her."

"Nothing compared to what she put her father and stepmother through, Marilla." Rachel countered.

As the trial continued Rachel, Marilla and John followed the newspaper articles through every twist and turn, their opinions on the matter changing with each new piece of evidence. When the jury was dismissed Rachel was sure Lizzie would be found guilty, John was sure she wouldn't be and Marilla was undecided.

So it was a surprise to some and less to others when the news came through. "Those Yankees must be crazy, that's what." Rachel declared, John smiled and Marilla was pleased for Lizzie.

"The question is, who did it then?" Marilla posited after they had settled down. John and Rachel had no answer to that and never would.

 _* Lizzie Borden had an axe  
_ _She gave her mother forty whacks  
_ _When she saw what she had done  
_ _She gave her father forty-one.  
_ Anon

 _A/N Since not everyone may be aware of this story, it is real. Lizzie Borden was tried and acquitted of the murder of her father and step-mother in 1892. The case remains unsolved._


	10. Chapter 10 Hand in Hand

_There's a distinct lack of Matthew on this site. Thought I'd write a chapter for this pivotal character._

 **Hand in Hand**

 _15 September 1892  
Green Gables_

 _Dearest Anne,_

 _We are both well, enjoying this beautiful September weather._

 _*** Page omitted ***_

 _As you will no doubt be aware, it will be Matthew's 75th birthday soon. I thought it would be lovely to commemorate his birthday together. Will you, Gilbert and the children join John and I at Green Gables on 3 October for a little party?_

 _With all my fondest love  
Marilla_

* * *

Matthew Cuthbert always remembered the first time he met his beloved little sister Marilla. He was but four years old, his mama had a swelling belly and when he asked about it one day, he was told that she was in the family way and that soon he'd have a little brother or sister. He didn't know which he'd like best. After a frightening, and to be honest, noisy night, he was introduced to his little sister lying in his mama's arms in his parent's big bed. "Come and say hello to your little sister Marilla" Constance said gently. He was entranced with her perfectly formed hands like little stars and her big wide blue eyes. He reached out to touch her and she grasped his finger with her tiny little ones and he was smitten. "She'll always be your little sister, it will be your job to look after her."

Marilla was entranced by the antics of her big brother. When she was just a baby she would watch him as he cavorted around loving the audience. He would stop and gently play with her. As she got older he would play little girlish games such as making daisy chains. He started school when she was quite young and she sobbed at first, dismayed at the loss of her playmate. She used to swing on the Green Gable's gate waiting for him to return home so they could resume their play. He would spend a few minutes before her bedtime teaching her to read before Constance would sweep in to send her up to bed. He liked to creep in when she was falling asleep to kiss her good night. She loved that time too and couldn't sleep until he did.

Eventually the day arrived when Marilla was to go to school. She was very excited to be joining her darling big brother in class. On the way he explained that as she was just starting and he was already on the second reader, they wouldn't be able to sit together. She was crestfallen; she had assumed that being in school together meant they'd be spending more time in each other's company. Matthew hated to tell her that he had his own friends and would be teased if he spent too much time with his little sister. "Here in school we can't see so much of each other, we can still play at home like normal."

Marilla watched him walk off and stood there all alone. A plump little girl approached her, "Hello I'm Rachel, would you like to play?"

* * *

As they grew up, they had one face for the outside world, but at home they were as inseparable as ever. Until the day Marilla noticed John Blythe. He had always been their neighbour, had always been around. He was a couple of years younger than Matthew. He had handsome twinkling brown eyes and curly brown hair and began escorting Marilla to school.

Matthew had left school by this time and was working on the farm with his father. Girls were a complete mystery to him, except Marilla, his mama of course, and to a lesser extent, Marilla's friend Rachel Potter. All other women made him a stammering mess. At church he was tongue-tied in their presence. Marilla used to tease him about it. "We're not that intimidating Matthew, what do you think a girl will do if you talk to her?" But he just never could, his brain froze around the fairer sex.

He watched somewhat sadly as his sister grew closer to John. What would he do if she left him? Particularly as it looked as though he himself would never marry. He liked John Blythe, he was a nice man, and he thought Marilla had chosen well. They made a good pair. He watched from the sidelines as his more sociable sister went out to dances or on walks with John. He hoped he'd be a good uncle if they ever had children.

* * *

"I don't think he's ever coming back Matthew", Marilla sobbed. The gulf of the lonely empty years stretched out before her.  
"I'll look after you Marilla. I can't see me marrying either." Marilla hugged him. It wasn't enough, not by a long shot, but he was better than no one. Constance had rather looked forward to grandchildren, but it seemed it wasn't to be. Matthew regretted his sister's unhappiness, but as her shy brother there was only so much he could do, especially once John Blythe moved on. All he could do was be her stalwart companion. Sometimes he heard her taking her frustrations out on the cow at milking time. That cow's going to kick over the bucket if she's not careful, he thought to himself. But he wisely said nothing.

The farm and housework continued relentlessly. One day their beautiful beloved mother died in her sleep. Their father had dropped dead from a heart attack some years previously. Now it was just the two of them. Matthew never felt inclined to say much; he let Marilla do the speaking. He grew his potatoes, tended to the stock and minded his own business. Marilla regretted her spinsterhood. She was reminded of it continually as they watched Rachel Potter get married, then have baby after baby. He knew Marilla couldn't help feeling she would have made a good mother too. She was a sort of honorary aunt to Rachel's children.

* * *

Matthew was getting old; he found the farm chores increasingly difficult to manage. One day over dinner, he cleared his throat, Marilla looked up in surprise; it had been a few days since he had started a conversation. "How would it be if we adopted a boy?"

"Adopt a boy? Matthew Cuthbert have you gone out of your mind? We can't adopt a boy."

"Why ever not, he would be a help to me around the farm."

"Since when did you need any help, you're perfectly capable?"

"Well I'm not getting any younger Marilla; quite frankly I'm finding some of the work a bit arduous these days."

"You'll have to let me think about it, I can't make a sudden decision just like that."

"I heard that Mrs Spencer was going to the Hopetown Asylum to fetch a girl to help her out. I thought we could send word to her to bring us a boy."

"Oh you've got it all sorted out I see?"

Matthew smiled, "little bit."

"Well Matthew as you are the one doing all the heavy labour around this place and I can't deny that we are getting older, I suppose it would be all right. We have plenty of room and could bring a poor orphan boy up in a good Christian household. Do you mean to send him to school? Or just have him work?"

"Send him to school of course, he won't be a slave."

They met Mrs Spencer's niece Nancy at church the next Sunday and sent word that they wanted a boy to Mrs Spencer. Marilla looked at Matthew over dinner the night before the boy was due, "I pray this isn't all a mistake. But it's too late now."

Matthew was nervous as he slapped the reins and encouraged the horse to jog down the red Prince Edward Island roads to the Bright River Train Station. What would it be like to have another person around the place? It would be useful to have a hand around the farm to be sure. It had been just him and Marilla for so long now, a child was going to change them. He walked up to the station passing a little girl sitting by herself. He didn't take much notice of her.

"When is the five thirty train due?" He asked the Stationmaster.

"The five thirty train has been in and gone half an hour ago, but there was a passenger dropped off for you – a little girl."

He walked over to the little girl "I suppose you are Mr Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables? I'm very glad to see you."* She prattled on about some tree she could see. She seemed to think she would have slept in it if he hadn't turned up. It didn't look a particularly comfortable bed to his way of thinking. He took her hand in his and decided what to do. He could not tell this child with the glowing eyes that there had been a mistake; he would take her home and let Marilla do that.

On the drive home the little girl, he never thought to ask her name, chatted away asking questions about the landscape and renaming places he'd known all his life. She barely drew breath. Matthew listened in wonder at her stream of consciousness. He had never heard the like. At one point she paused and asked him what colour he thought her hair was. He wasn't sure if it was a trick question. "It's red, ain't it?" The only time she was struck dumb during the whole ride was during the ride down The Avenue. She didn't like its name and renamed it The White Way of Delight. He hoped Marilla would let her stay; she would really bring the old household to life. She talked so much he nearly forgot what Marilla's reaction would be. By the time they rounded the last bend and he stopped the buggy to show her Green Gables, he was smitten.

Marilla's reaction exactly as he expected.

"Matthew Cuthbert, who's that?" she ejaculated. "Where is the boy?"

Matthew could hardly bear to look at the little girl's crestfallen face; his heart broke when she burst into tears. It was during the next exchange that they finally learnt her name, Anne, spelt with an E.

Anne turned to Matthew and asked him reproachfully "why didn't you tell me at the station that you didn't want me and leave me there?" Matthew had no answer for that and ran out to the stable to put the mare in. As he did so, he reflected on why he hadn't told her. To be honest, from the moment he saw her in her too small dress he wanted to keep her. It wasn't just that he was too cowardly to say anything, but he thought she looked like a little waif whom he and Marilla could care for. He supposed he should have told her the situation in advance to give her some warning, but it was too late now.

Anne declared she couldn't eat dinner because she was in the depths of despair. She was a card and no mistake, awfully melodramatic, although he supposed she could rightfully make that claim. Marilla took her up to bed and Matthew lit his pipe. He found it a comfort when his mind was troubled.

Marilla wanted to send her back, she was determined to take Anne to Mrs Spencer to see where the mistake was made. Matthew was upset, he really wanted to keep her, but he wasn't brave enough to say it outright to Marilla.

"She's a real nice little thing, Marilla. It's kind of a pity to send her back when she's so set on staying here."

"Matthew Cuthbert you don't mean to say you think we ought to keep her!"

Anne sobbed through the night breaking Matthew's heart.

Marilla was resolute in the morning and took Anne in the buggy over to Mrs Spencer's. Matthew told Marilla that he had hired a man for the summer and waved sadly to the buggy as it disappeared down the road. He worked despondently at his chores that afternoon. Anne had provided a lovely, all too brief, interlude in his life. He thought he would remember their drive back from the station all his life. Imagine his surprise then when he heard the buggy returning and saw not one but two figures within. Marilla laid out the terms, she would be the sole parent. Matthew agreed, he knew even less than she did about bringing up a child.

* * *

"Is that them? Is that the buggy?" Marilla looked out the window to the road leading towards Green Gables. She glanced around the room. It was spick and span. There were pastries and cakes in the pantry. She had been preparing for days. She was relieved that Rachel had brought some of her own baking over to share at the feast, Marilla was aware that she wasn't getting any younger. She didn't think she could manage all the catering on her own.

The buggy pulled up at the front door and the children tumbled out excited to see their grandparents and their beloved Green Gables. They had of course been told about their 'Uncle Matthew' all their lives. He lived on in Anne and Marilla's shared memory and to a lesser extent their father and grandfather's too. The party was set for the next day.

It was a beautiful autumn day, the leaves were just turning, forming a crimson backdrop. Marilla and John made the most of the delightful weather and held the party outside. It was just the extended family and Rachel attending. Quiet Matthew had rather slipped from the public consciousness after his passing, and it seemed unnecessary to invite more people to the party of such a private man.

Tables and chairs were set up outside under the shade of the trees. It made a pretty picture with everyone in his or her best clothes. During their sumptuous lunch they swapped Matthew stories. "Did you know, Marilla" Anne admitted "that it was Matthew who persuaded me to apologise to Rachel after she twitted me about my looks?"

Marilla was shocked "No?"

"Oh yes, he crept up to my room whilst you were out fetching in the cows. He told me you were a dreadfully determined woman and that I had better apologise sometime. He made me promise never to tell you. I suppose I'm breaking that promise now," she giggled.

"The sly old fox. You probably believed I'd make you stay up in that room forever. I admit my resolve was crumbling. You were proving yourself to be more stubborn than I. I never supposed it was him that brought you around."

"I used to see him around when we were courting Mar." John said next. "He always looked a little forlorn, though he was friendly enough to me."

"I suppose he would have been very lonely if we had gotten married then. Just an old bachelor at home on his own." Marilla said thoughtfully. "I never really thought of it like that."

"He was always so sweet to me," said Anne. "He bought me my first very pretty dress with puffed sleeves. You probably thought he was spoiling me Marilla? But I never forgot his kindness. If I'd been a boy, maybe he could have lived longer."

"Shush Anne, he never wanted a boy, not after he'd known you for five minutes."

"Five minutes?"

"Yes, he told me later that he fell head over heels in love with you after about five minutes. He was always so proud of you." Both women had tears in their eyes as they remembered their sweet Matthew. Their prospective husbands were there, but they really only needed each other in that moment as they reflected on how lucky they were to have him in their lives. This quiet unaffected man protected and supported them for so many years, even in death.

"Will you join me Marilla? I want to take some flowers to place on his grave."

Leaving their family behind, the women took some roses and walked hand in hand to the cemetery for a private memorial.

* Anne of Green Gables


	11. Chapter 11 The Moon Split in Half

**The Moon Split in Half**

"Well women can't vote so it doesn't really matter what you think."* John said arrogantly. Marilla pushed back her chair roughly and rushed out of the room.

"Oh John, you shouldn't have said that, you should not have said that!" Rachel scolded.

"You agree with me though."

"Yes, but that doesn't excuse you, even a little bit. You just told her, her opinion in this marriage doesn't matter. We women may not have suffrage yet, but we still have valid opinions."

"Well of course you do, I didn't mean it like that."

"Well that's what it sounded like to me."

He looked at Rachel aghast, "I only meant…"

"You're apologising to the wrong person, John."

"I better take you home Rachel."

* * *

"John Blythe you don't mean to tell me you're a grit?"*

It was election time. The Conservative Party had ruled Canada for some years and John for one, thought it was time for a change. Marilla was shocked; she and Matthew had been Conservatives all their life. In her mind it was the natural order of things, it never occurred to her that he would have a different opinion. Women were not allowed to vote, so it was immaterial, but she had expected he would vote as Matthew and her father had always done.

* * *

Marilla had seen Rachel while she was out shopping the day before and invited her to dinner. Over their meal the conversation had turned to politics. "I think it's high time the government did away with these tariffs, that's what. It's hurting trade." Rachel declaimed. Marilla disagreed "No, our government is protecting us." John listened to the women debate the matter in hand. It didn't matter what either of them thought, women couldn't vote in any case. He said as much after a few minutes of heated argument. Marilla shot him a look of dismay, stood up and stormed out.

Marilla ran up to their bedroom in tears. She was furious with him. Why did he have to be so rude and condescending? She changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, muttering to herself.

Once he returned home he found the house just as had left it; candles burning; the dishes on the table.

Marilla heard John enter the bedroom, get changed and climb into bed. She moved over to the edge of the bed, too upset to look at him. She considered moving out to the spare room, but the bed wasn't made up. Anyway he should be the one moving, he was the one in the wrong.

He lay looking at her back. "Mar". No response. "Marilla? Mar? Please Mar; don't be angry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say those things to you. Your opinion is as valid as mine. I was just being an idiot." He saw her shoulders shrug and heard a small sob. "Mar? Are you all right?"

"No."

"Please Mar, I don't want to go to sleep on an argument."

She shifted infinitesimally further away.

"Mar, don't be like that."

 _Silence_

"Please Mar, I'm sorry."

 _Silence_

 _Sob_

John reached out with one gentle finger to touch her back. "Mar?"

In a swift movement she turned around suddenly and launched herself into his chest. She was crying hard. "Oh J-John."

He held her tight. "If it means that much to you, I'll vote anyway you tell me to. I'm sorry I upset you. It's not worth quarrelling about." She cried into his chest; he could feel the dampness of her tears and snot through his nightshirt. She was crying in big ugly sobs. He hugged and comforted her. "It's all right Mar, it's all right. I'm so sorry I was so despicable. I just discovered I absolutely hate arguing with you."

"Oh me too."

He stroked her hair, his fingers moving down to caress her face. He kissed her gently on the cheeks, her neck, and the little indentation at its base...

"You know" she said contemplatively afterwards "it was almost worth it."

"It's known for its restorative powers" John murmured as he fell asleep.

* * *

"I want to talk about last night, John."

"I know I was belligerent and rude."

"How do you see us managing when we have disagreements in the future, John? You just shut me down, you didn't listen to my opinion, you just played the 'I'm a man and I know best' card. I've been too independent all my life to put up with that sort of nonsense."

"I promise I won't do that again, Marilla. Your opinion is valid and important to me. I promise to listen to you in the future."

"And I will listen to you too husband" _muttering "When you make sense."_

He smirked at her and kissed her cheek "Yes dear."

The election was held the next week. For the first time in his life John voted conservative. They won.

* Women were only granted suffrage in Canada in 1917  
** Canadian slang for a Liberal voter


	12. Chapter 12 Lightning and Thunder

_Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. It makes me so happy to think that you are enjoying this little A/U I've created._

 **Lightning and Thunder**

"You know, since we've been together I haven't had a sick headache." Marilla declared one day over lunch.

"A sick headache? What's that?" John asked curiously.

"Caroline didn't suffer?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You'd know if she did."

"What happens?"

"They're very nasty. First I get a visual disturbance."

"What does that mean?" John enquired; it was all new to him.

"It looks as though I have things floating in front of my eyes, but they're not really there. Sometimes I can't see through them."

"Sounds disturbing."

"That's just a precursor though. Because shortly after that I usually start talking in gibberish, then I start vomiting and my head feels like it's splitting open."

"Marilla! How long does this last for?"

"Maybe two or three days."

"Does anything help?"

"It's better if I'm in a completely dark and quiet room, other than that, no."

"How often do you get them?"

"Usually about three or four times a year, but as I say, I haven't had one since we got back together. I must say I haven't missed them."

"I don't remember your suffering before?"

"Actually I got the first one about a week after we broke up."

"Oh Mar."

* * *

As she announced it, so it came to pass.

About a week after their conversation, Marilla noticed a small dancing spot at the centre of her vision. Oh bother; I shouldn't have spoken last week, she thought to herself.

"Ohn. Ohn." That didn't sound right "Ohn" nor that either. "Ohn."

John appeared "Were you talking to me, Mar?"

"I cat meek birds, Ohn."

John looked worried, "You're not making any sense Marilla."

She looked pleadingly at him, not sure what he'd just said and not trusting herself to speak.

"Come on darling, it sounds like that thing you were telling me about last week, sick headache was it? Let's get you up into bed." He took her arm and led her up the stairs. Like a dumb thing, she was helpless. He had to undress her and find a nightgown. She just stood there while he completed the task, unable to contribute in any way. She didn't really comprehend what was happening. John pulled back the bed covers, sat her down, swung her legs into the bed and drew the covers over her.

John was very worried. It had come so rapidly. He ran through their conversation from the previous week to try to recall the symptoms: incoherence, visual disturbances. Was there anything else? Oh yes, light and noise sensitivity, vomiting and extreme pain. It sounded ghastly. Poor Marilla. He shut the curtains making the room quite dark. She started retching and he reached out for the bowl on the bedside table. He lifted her up and she vomited into it. He wiped her face with a towel and laid her back down. She was moaning in agony. He desperately wanted to fetch the doctor, but didn't feel he could leave her in this state. He didn't like to think what might happen to her if she was left on her own for even a little while. He sat by the bed for a time and watched her writhe in agony, feeling completely helpless.

"Marilla, Marilla! Are you at home?" Rachel called out. Since to go anywhere the Blythes had to go past her house, she was sure they were there, but she was surprised not to see Marilla in the kitchen.

"Is that you Rachel?" John called down the stairs.

"Yes, I just came by for a spot of tea and a chat."

"Oh what a relief, can you come up here?"

Rachel was surprised, it wasn't often she ventured upstairs even in her best friend's home. "Is everything all right?"

"No, Marilla has one of her sick headaches."

"Oh dear, poor girl. I know how she's suffered with them for years."

"Oddly enough we were just talking about them the other day. She told me she hadn't had one since we got back together, which is why I'm at a loss now. Can you stay with her for a bit while I fetch the doctor? I don't want to leave her alone." They walked into her room together. Marilla was lying in a foetal position, clutching her head, moaning in pain.

"Of course, off you go John. I'll stay with her." Rachel whispered; she recalled loud voices upset Marilla when she was in this state.

After he'd gone, she sat down in the chair to keep a close eye on Marilla. She didn't want her vomiting in the bed. Rachel knew from past experience that there was little the doctor would be able to do for Marilla, but it would set John's mind at ease. While she waited she thought about Marilla's life. They had been close friends since the first day of school.

Rachel had thought Marilla and Matthew crazy when they announced they were adopting. You heard all sorts of terrible things about orphans from goodness-knows-where, but she'd had to eat her words as the initially uninspiring Anne turned into a real smart young woman. Rachel smiled to herself as she thought back to their introduction. She supposed she had been a bit harsh, but she never expected such a reaction from either of them. Even at the beginning Marilla had been a fierce advocate for Anne, even when Anne was in the wrong.

Marilla moaned. Rachel glanced down at her, "It's all right dear, I'm here. John's just gone for the doctor." Marilla glanced up at her uncomprehendingly, whimpered and shut her eyes again. Rachel wasn't sure if Marilla had any idea what was happening beyond the pain. Marilla had told her that it was all a bit of a mystery; that she herself had strange memories of what happened when she was ill. The agony was so intense that nothing much got through to her.

As Marilla settled back in her world of pain, Rachel thought back to the scrawny child Anne had been. It had taken Marilla quite some time to fatten her up, but good healthy food and clean living had done wonders for her looks. Rachel had to admit that Marilla had been right to keep her. There was a sort of poetic justice to Anne and Gilbert getting together, they had their ups and downs too of course. The slate incident stood out as a bad starting point. She and Marilla had had a good chuckle over that. Rachel thought that was the moment Marilla recognized how special Anne was. They were both strong-minded women who wouldn't put up with any nonsense from men. It did seem that Anne got into more than the usual amount of scrapes though.

She and Marilla used to laugh and laugh over her exploits. Like the time Anne dyed her hair green; or sold the wrong cow; or nearly drowned on Barry's pond. They used to sit at the kitchen table with tears running down their cheeks, cackling so hard. Rachel could still hear Marilla telling her between giggles about the time Anne and Diana had scared themselves half to death making up tales about the so-called haunted wood; and now, she chortled, they're too scared to walk there at dusk, Rachel. Oh those silly girls.

John was taking a while; she expected he'd return any time now. Marilla was moaning and thrashing around in the bed. Rachel looked down at her with compassion. Poor Marilla, as if being a spinster most of her life weren't bad enough, she had to put up with these awful attacks.

Thinking back Rachel recalled how maternal Marilla had been with the waifs that came her way. First Anne, then the twins. Dora and Davy's relationship to her was very tenuous, but she never let that stand in her way. Dora was a sweet little thing, but that Davy was as crazy a boy as Rachel had ever seen. If Anne had been wayward he was another level of rebellion altogether, though he wasn't spiteful with it; combining curiosity with fearlessness.

Marilla looked as though she might vomit, "Here you go dear, just let it all out." Rachel held a bowl under her chin and supported her. "There, there." Afterwards, she wiped Marilla's chin and face and lowered her back down on the pillow. There really wasn't anything that she could do right now, but she would sit with her as she promised John.

Oh John, now that was a strange tale. They had made such a gay couple when young. She contemplated the times they had had when the four of them were courting; she and Thomas; Marilla and John. They had had some fun together. She recalled the time when Marilla and John had kissed at the Church dance. She had been shocked at their temerity. Rachel supposed that they were both at fault when they broke up, both impetuous and stubborn. If a couple were to survive the rigours of life together, they had to be able to compromise. Still she, as Marilla's best friend, did commiserate when they broke up.

It was hard though, as she and Thomas were just starting to court when that happened. She almost had to shield a distraught Marilla from her own joy. It was a tightrope act she had to perform. She thought about what it must have been like for Marilla to watch her have all her children. Rachel was sure Marilla would have been a wonderful mother herself had the opportunity arisen, it must have hurt her grievously to miss out. For her own sanity, Rachel supposed, Marilla had to present a harsh face to the world, when really she was a softy at heart.

Rachel thought back to her reaction to Marilla and John's reconciliation. She had mildly teased Marilla when she heard he was having dinner at her place on occasion. Marilla had denied anything was happening, but sometimes you have to be outside a relationship to see what's really going on. Rachel perceived that John was interested in her before Marilla had an inkling herself. Of course there was nothing Rachel could say to persuade her there was anything serious going on. Marilla was adamant that she was too old for any romance in her life. She was happy to be wrong though.

Marilla was quieter now, still curled into a little ball.

Rachel thought her friend made the most stunning bride; her eyes highlighted her light blue dress. Rachel had glanced at John the instant he saw Marilla coming down the stairs; he was mesmerized. Rachel smiled as she thought back to their awkward conversation about the wedding night, she knew Marilla was nervous beforehand which is why she was quite short with Rachel as she attempted to explain it. But all had gone well and Marilla and John were enjoying a happy marriage now. It made Rachel happy to … Hark, was that the door?

"Rachel."

"John" she called out, Marilla groaned.

"Sorry I was gone so long, Doctor Tulloch was out on another call."

"Shh, not so loud, it pains her." Rachel reminded him.

Doctor Tulloch entered the room and swiftly strode over to the bed to examine Marilla. After a quick examination he motioned to John to join him in the hallway.  
"Yes it's a migraine or sick headache all right. It won't kill her, but it is unpleasant while it lasts. Look I feel terrible saying this, but there's really not much I can do. You'd think some sort of pain relief would help, but she won't be able to keep it down long enough for it to do its work."

"So what … ?"

"Shh" Rachel hissed.

"So what can we do?" John whispered.

"At this stage all you can do is stay with her in case she is ill again. It may be a couple of days until she revives somewhat and she'll be quite weak even then. It might take up to a week for her to fully recover. I can come back tomorrow if you like?"

"That would be helpful, thank you."

The doctor made his own way out. John entered the room again and stroked Marilla on the forehead, she winced. "What shall I do? Rachel?"

"Are you hungry?"

"What? Um, yes, I suppose so."

"I'll fetch us something to eat, we have to keep our strength up."

Rachel made her way down to the kitchen smiling to herself that it was only when Marilla was out of action that she got a chance to enter this most private of sanctums.

She hunted through the pantry and found a few bits and pieces, popped them on a plate and took a tray upstairs to the bedroom. "Here you go, John, we can eat up here." It was a strange place for a picnic and they could only whisper to each other.

"Thank you" he mouthed at her. She smiled back.

"I'll go home now." She whispered after they had finished. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you for helping, Rachel." He leant over to kiss her on the cheek.

"Oh shush, she's my oldest friend, I'm happy to help."

* * *

A day later Marilla was beginning to improve. She talk coherently, but was still sensitive to light and sound. John was feeding her some soup when Rachel poked her head around the corner of the doorway. "You're looking much better, Marilla. How are you feeling?"

"Weak as a kitten, but improving slowly. It helps to have this wonderful nurse here."

John smiled at that. "You had two nurses, I'd say Marilla."


	13. Chapter 13 Humble Pie

**Humble Pie**

John sat back from the dinner table having finished yet another delicious meal. Marilla really was the most wonderful cook.

He patted his stomach. "I think all this amazing cooking is making me fat Mar, you might have to let out my trousers."

Marilla smiled, "That's easily done darling."

"Do you enjoy cooking Marilla?"

"Well not every night I will admit, but I've cooked almost every day of my life."

"I should help out sometime. I do know my way around a kitchen. I had a year of being a widower; I didn't starve."

"You're on John. You can prepare my dinner tomorrow night."

"Oh give me a bit of warning, Marilla. If I'm cooking for you the quality will need to be better. I'll need to do some research. Can I cook for you next Wednesday?"

"Sounds wonderful. You can cook me anything you like, but I will want an apple pie for dessert."

"Apple pie, well that's simple enough."

* * *

John pulled out Caroline's cookbooks the next day, he had bought them with him when he moved in, and pored over them taking notes and considering what went with what. He was keen to prove to Marilla that he was a commendable chef.

Marilla enjoyed watching him. She knew from experience what was required; she had been cooking for the family for years, and knew the contents of her pantry intimately. If there were deficiencies, she knew how to plug them; what to buy or what to pick from the garden. John had to learn all this in a week. She tried to offer assistance, but John rejected her advice.

"No, no, I'm enjoying the challenge, leave it all up to me."

Marilla left him to it, going on with her cleaning. She knew she would still have to prepare all the meals up until his feast though. So she would need access to her kitchen soon, she reminded John of that. He looked up from the cookbook somewhat irritated, "Of course." Though actually he had been so absorbed in his task that he had forgotten they would need to eat in the days leading up to his attempt.

* * *

"I'm just popping out to town Marilla, I have to buy some supplies."

"Let me check your shopping list at least, we might have some of your ingredients already."

"No I checked already." John waited until Marilla had left the room before jogging to the pantry. He hated to her to think he didn't have the whole thing covered, though in fact he was rapidly discovering that he was out of his depth. He just had to plan it out like a military undertaking.

In town he bought all his supplies, and just in case he bought twice as much as he needed to allow for disasters. Not that there would be any disasters he assured himself, as he popped extra sugar into his basket.

Back at Green Gables he laid out all his supplies. Marilla passed by and commented that he had bought enough to feed a small army. "Have you invited anyone else for dinner, Davy and his family perhaps?" He scowled at her and decided not to comment. He was too busy anyway. She kissed him on the top of his head and decided to get on with some sewing in peace.

* * *

John had written himself a long list of what to do when. He started after lunch by mixing the dough for the bread rolls. He had watched first Caroline and then Marilla do this for years, but it proved harder than it looked. He ended up with sticky dough all over his hands and down his apron; everything he touched ended up covered in the stuff and he was stuck. Most reluctantly he called out to Marilla. "Mar, help."

Marilla popped her head around the corner and immediately took in his predicament. "Oh."

"Can you give me a hand here?" Marilla dawdled over with a smirk on her face. "What are you making?"

"Bread rolls, but I seem to have a bit too much dough."

"You'll need more flour. Do you have a recipe?"

John waved his head in the direction of the cookbook. "Yes it's over there."

It wasn't familiar to Marilla. "Was this Caroline's?"

"Er, yes." John hesitated; perhaps this would be more cause for mirth.

Marilla glanced at it, she herself hadn't used a cookbook for years, but she supposed it would be a Godsend to the uninitiated John. "Sounds like a good idea. Well what you need is more flour, because all you have here is a wet mess." She deftly scooped some flour out of the crock and plonked it down on the table. "Put your hands in there and rub the dough around in there for a while. Do you want me to stay?"

"No, but perhaps you shouldn't stray too far away."

He watched Marilla walk back to the sewing room, pleased to be left alone, but with her within calling distance. The dough went better with more flour and he soon had it in a neat ball. What did the recipe say to do next? He read it carefully; knead the dough. He'd watched his wives knead dough often enough. He pressed down on the dough and watch it squeeze out, he gathered it back up again and squeezed down again. It was quite tactile, a pleasant task. He left the dough by the stove to rise.

For the main course he planned roast chicken with vegetables from their garden and gravy. He had killed and gutted the chicken the previous day and let it hang. It just needed to be trussed and put in the oven. He went out to the garden to find some nice potatoes, the one thing they were never short of at Green Gables; and some green beans and the last of the tomatoes. He picked some herbs for the chicken.

Having prepared the main course he turned his attention to the pie.

There were plenty of apples down in the cellar. They still had access to the famous Blythe crop. After a lifetime of growing them John was an expert apple peeler, but first he had to make the pastry. He had never done it before, after washing his hands he hunted through the cookbook for the recipe. Reading out loud to himself he murmured, "Using half fat to flour. Hmm, what does that mean? How much of each?" Keen to get it right, apple pies should be his specialty after all, he called out to Marilla again. She came in straightaway. "Need a hand?"

"Yes, I'm a bit confused about this recipe, what does using half fat to flour mean, and how much should I use?"

"Oh, well that's the ratio of fat to flour for a good short crust pastry, I would use a cup of butter and two cups of flour. Any other questions?"

"Um, yes." John looked down at the recipe book, "what does it mean to blind bake? Do I use a blindfold?"

Marilla laughed at that. "No, sweetheart, it means you bake it in the oven before you put the filling in, otherwise the pie shell can get soggy."

"Oh, that's clever."

She left him to it again, impressed at his efforts. It was beginning to look messy in the kitchen, but he was working hard. She thought she could see a trussed chicken in the pantry.

John made the pastry dough according to the recipe and set it aside to 'rest' as it suggested.

Glancing at the bread dough, he surmised that it had risen nicely. He glanced at the cookbook again and read 'knock it back'. Having watched Marilla do this very thing earlier in the week, he felt confident enough, and determined not to call her back in so soon. He punched the dough and cut it into small pieces and rolled them into small rolls and left them in a pan to rise again.

Next the pastry had to be rolled out. He found the rolling pin and rolled the pastry out into a large circle. That was easy enough, but now he had to transfer it to the pie tin. He had a flat circle of pastry and a tin. How was he supposed to get the pastry into the tin? He tried picking it up, but it was stuck to the table. "Damn", he swore softly to himself. "Marilla, I'm stuck again." She appeared almost immediately.

"How do I get the pastry into the tin?"

"Did you flour the table before you rolled the pastry out?"

He looked at her askance, "flour the table?"

"Ah, yes, well then there's no way to transfer the pastry across, it'll be stuck to the table now."

He looked forlorn. "No matter, we can fix it." She quickly washed and dried her hands and using her fingertips she gathered the pastry up into a ball again, wiping the table clean afterwards. "Now see, you sprinkle some flour on the table before you roll the pastry out. After that you roll the pastry around the rolling pin and roll it back over the pie tin. You should blind bake it for about 15 minutes."

It worked much better this time and in a flash, John had the pie shell in the oven to bake. He used that time to peel and chop a few apples. He placed them in the cooked piecrust and feeling confident used the left over pastry to create a lattice over the apples.

"Do you want a cup of tea, John?"

As soon as she asked, he felt exhausted and thirsty. "Yes please."

She came back into the kitchen and put the kettle on. In a trice it seemed they were sitting down to afternoon tea. "You're so much faster at this cooking lark that I could ever hope to be, Mar."

"Of course. It does help that I've been doing it every day since before Mama died." He gave her a hug. "I've never properly appreciated how much work goes into it before." The kitchen looked like a flour bomb had hit it.

* * *

They sat down to dinner a bit later than usual. John had been slaving over the hot stove for some hours and was a bit beyond hunger. He found the act of cooking all day did nothing for his appetite. He pulled the slightly burnt chicken out of the oven. "Oh dear."

"Never mind darling, I'm sure it will be delicious. Just carve it for me."

They sat down to eat the chicken and vegetables. Despite the chicken being over cooked, the potatoes were still rather crunchy. "Did you parboil these?" Marilla asked, holding up a stabbed potato on her fork. It had eluded her first attempts, but she got it in the end.

"Par boil?"

"Yes, it's a good idea to boil them in some water first to get them started."

"That would be a no, then."

Marilla ate the burnt chicken with the lumpy gravy; the hard bread rolls; the crunchy potatoes; the over-cooked beans and blackened tomatoes and declared it all delicious. It was after all a treat to have her dinner cooked for her.

"It's not very good is it?" John said sadly.

"Darling, for a first go, it's wonderful. If you want more help next time, I'm happy to lend a hand."

John cleared the plates away and sat back down. Truth to tell he was exhausted. He didn't know how she did it three times a day. He'd never considered how much work it was cooking three meals from scratch every day.

"Was there pie?"

"Oh the pie!" John jumped up and pulled the pie out of the oven just in time, it was almost burning at the edges. He would have been sorry to ruin it too.

He cut it up and served Marilla a slice.

She waited for it to cool for a bit before spooning a piece into her mouth.

"Oh I forgot, there's cream." He fetched it for her and added a dollop to the top of her pie. "Is it, is it all right?"

She smiled, chewed, swallowed, took another piece, swallowed that too.

"Well that was delicious, I think you ought to make it a weekly occurrence, John sweetheart."

"Oh dear, I should be careful what I wish for."

Marilla smirked at him and cut herself another piece of pie.


	14. Chapter14 The Lady Doth Protest Too Much

_A big shout out to all my readers, whether you review or not, I know there are a lot of lurkers out there. I hope you're enjoying my little A/U. And thank you to **Excel Aunt** for the prompt._

 **The Lady Doth Protest Too Much  
**  
Marilla was in town for some messages and picked up the mail while she was there. She leafed through the letters and amongst the usual drivel found one from her beloved Anne.

 _Dearest Marilla_

She skimmed it quickly in case it needed a prompt response, she could read it again at leisure when she got home. Something caught her eye _Mary Maria has come to stay. Oh Marilla I shouldn't say it but she is a terrific bore. She takes offence at any and everything. She picks fights with Susan and myself. The children are quite fearful of her. We are at our wits end and there's no sign of her leaving. She is sucking the joy out of life.  
_

Marilla hesitated to respond because she knew how little John liked Mary Maria, but Anne and Gilbert did seem to be suffering. Best strike while the iron is hot, she thought to herself and she quickly dashed off a few lines to Anne informing her that she and John would be happy, she snorted at this and knew Anne would appreciate the joke, to invite Mary Maria to stay at Green Gables for a fortnight.

She posted it back in the return mail before she had a chance to change her mind. She rather dreaded breaking the news to John. Mary Maria was not his favourite cousin, but she didn't see why Anne and Gilbert should have to shoulder the entire load.

* * *

To say Anne was delighted to receive Marilla's prompt reply was an understatement. She hastened to let Gilbert know the news. Initially Gilbert felt a bit guilty, Mary Maria was his aunt after all. But then he thought about his children's crestfallen faces at mealtimes, as they were upbraided by Mary Maria for the slightest infractions.

"Have you asked Mary Maria if she would like to go?" Gilbert asked Anne

"I'm hoping she'll like a bit of a break from our noisy household Gil."

Luckily Mary Maria thought it a delightful idea and she was soon packed and whisked away. The family all stood at the gate and waved her carriage off. There was a collective lightening of spirit. The children looked at each other gave a whoop of joy, and ran off before their reaction got them into any trouble. Anne knew she should admonish them, but to be honest she gave a small whoop under her breath. Two whole weeks until she had to, er no, could welcome Mary Maria back. She owed Marilla a favour.

* * *

Later in the day Mary Maria was delivered to Green Gables. Marilla was at the door to meet her. "Come in you must be exhausted. Travel always drains me. I have the kettle on for a hot drink. Would you rather tea or coffee?"

"I'm not sure Marilla, I'd hate to put you to any bother."

"Oh it's no trouble at all. I've got everything here."

"Oh well I'd just like a little hot water then."

"Really? Just hot water?"

"Yes that's all, not too hot though." Marilla gave her a cup with hot water, and added a bit of cold water.

"Just a bit more, dear Marilla and a bit more", she sipped, "just a wee bit more. Oh yes that will do."

"Is there anything you would like to do while you're here Mary Maria?"

"Oh no dear, I'm just happy to tag along with you. I don't want to be any inconvenience."

"We're going to put you in our spare room. Here you go, we picked these flowers this morning, aren't they they beautiful?"

"Oh no, flowers set off my asthma. _Atishoo_ she gave the gentlest sneeze, please remove these." She held out the vase for Marilla to take.

That night in bed Marilla and John heaved collective sighs. "Two weeks Mar?"

"She's your cousin John. Anne and Gilbert need a break, it's the Christian thing to do."

"Hmm, maybe I could convert?" Marilla giggled and poked him in the side.

"John Blythe you are awful. I admit she would try the patience of a saint. She never wants to be any bother, but is the worst sort of nuisance. How does she manage that? Let's forget about her for now, I'd rather snuggle with you instead." John opened his arms and she lay across his chest.

* * *

Next morning Marilla and John were up early. "Do you think she expects breakfast in bed John?"

"Surely not, she can get up like the rest of us, she's our guest, but we're not her servants." Over breakfast Marilla and John planned out their day.

"I thought we might pay a visit to Rachel Lynde, Mary Maria. She'll be able to fill you in on the local news."

"Will John be driving us, Marilla?"

"No, I'll drive."

"Oh goodness, is it safe?"

"I've been driving all my life Mary Maria, I think it should be all right."

Upon arrival at Rachel Lynne's house they were greeted enthusiastically. "Come in ladies, how lovely to see you again." Rachel winked surreptitiously at Marilla. She had met Mary Maria before. "It's such a lovely day, I thought we might take tea in the garden." Mary Maria did not look pleased; she sniffed and let out another gentle sneeze. "Oh is there a problem?" Rachel enquired.

"Oh it's nothing, I just suffer from a spot of asthma. But I'm sure it will be fine. Don't mind me." Mary Maria sneezed again. They were such little sneezes it was hard to believe they were real.

"Well if you're sure, the table is out here." Rachel was determined not to let Mary Maria's spoilt manner ruin her morning. She led them through the house and into the pretty garden. A table was set up with a pretty tablecloth and there was beautiful plate of cakes and sandwiches under a cover. "I'll just get the tea."

The three women sat in easy chairs around the garden table. It really was the most delightful scene. Marilla was amused by Rachel's handling of Mary Maria. Rather than giving into her passive aggressive digs, Rachel chose to blithely take her at her word. Marilla intended to inform Rachel of her admiration at a later date.

Over morning tea Rachel filled Mary Maria in on all the comings and goings around Avonlea. Mary Maria knew most of the people involved, or at least knew their families, which amounted to the same thing.

* * *

Over the course of the week all went as well as could be expected. Mary Maria found fault with almost everything and everyone; while Marilla and John sympathised with each other. Each acknowledged that the other helped them through. They were almost able to make a joke of it when they were alone, but it was tough going.

At dinner one night Mary Maria happened to mention Marilla and John's unconventional relationship. "Whatever did happen to drive you two apart all those years ago, Marilla?"

"Oh well, we were both to blame really." Marilla was rather ashamed of her behaviour as a young girl; she didn't really enjoy reflecting upon it.

"We were both stubborn and a bit stupid." John chimed in.

"So you bided your time until Caroline died did you, then you jumped straight in for a second go?"

"Well I hardly think I jumped in, Mary Maria. We've known each other for years. I was very sad when Caroline died."

"There's no need to defend yourself, Marilla." John's voice was stony cold "I would like you to apologise, Mary Maria. That was uncalled for."

"I didn't mean any harm, John."

He stared stonily at her.

"I apologise Marilla. I'm sorry if you were hurt by my words."

In bed that night Marilla confessed "John she is awful, I'm cracking. I'm not sure how much more I can put up with. I want to send her packing, not back to Ingleside, but home. Or preferably further away."

"Shush, shush. It's only for a little while longer. Remember she is lonely. She doesn't have a handsome husband to care for her." Marilla smiled ruefully and leaned in for a hug.

* * *

A day later over lunch Mary Maria commented on Anne and Gilbert's children. "I do think those children are wayward and terribly ill mannered."

It was bad enough that she was rude to her hosts, but Marilla refused to allow Mary Maria to criticise her darling grandchildren. Her hackles well and truly up, she icily said "Ill mannered?"

"Oh yes" Mary Maria blithely ploughed on ignoring the change in atmosphere. "They talk back to their parents; are awfully loud and opinionated; the girls are vain; and that baby Rilla is too round. They are always off with those terrible, motherless Meredith children getting up to who knows what sort of mischief."

Marilla stood up from the table in a rush, shoving her chair back with a screech. "That's it, I've had it. It was bad enough when you insulted our marriage, but I won't have you slighting our grandchildren. Out of my house! You are no longer welcome here."

"I didn't mean to upset you dear Marilla."

"Don't you dear Marilla me, get out of my house and I don't ever want to see you darken my doorstep again, you, you, you Harridan." Marilla was shaking with anger, she couldn't recall ever feeling quite so furious ever before. It was not a pleasant feeling, but this woman was unbearable. She may have been kin, but Marilla was adamant that she would never visit Green Gables again.

"John?" Mary Maria looked beseechingly at him.

"I am very much afraid that Marilla's word is final, Mary Maria. You should go and pack your things. I'll take you home right now."

"Home? I'm expected back at The Glen."

"I doubt you'll be welcome back there either." John said. Marilla would have spoken, but she was still shaking with rage.

"Well I never." Mary Maria said haughtily.

"Never is the right word, I wish you had _never_ come to stay with any of us." Marilla muttered.

* * *

"I suppose I was terribly rude, Rachel." Marilla admitted later whilst John was driving Mary Maria home, "but that woman…" She ran out of words.

Rachel was silent and poured Marilla a glass of redcurrant wine. The situation called for something stronger than tea.

 _A/N Aunt Mary Maria is such a pain, that I did consider an alternative ending where John completely loses his temper and clocks her one with a shovel. They dump her body in Barry's Pond, weighted down with stones. No one misses her._


	15. Chapter 15 Snoring like an Elephant

_This story was prompted by a discussion between other writers about Anne and Gil's slow burn relationship._

 _Snneurrrgghhh Sneeuuurrgghhh_

John was lying on his back in bed and snoring. The noise woke Marilla up, he sounded like an elephant. She prodded him; sometimes it helped if he changed positions. He didn't move so she tried again, harder this time. He did eventually roll over towards her and was quiet, much to her relief.

She lay on her side facing him. Sometimes when she was awake in the night she liked to watch him sleep. Tonight a thin shaft of moonlight between the curtains caught his face so she could study him. He looked pale in the light, but she knew he had the ruddy complexion of someone who had spent his life outside. It was hard to believe she had managed without him for most of her life. He made her complete. Quite unbeknownst to her all this years she had been living a half-life. Mary Maria had rudely commented about their marriage. But she was half right. Marilla had never completely forgotten John even after all those years. She had never envisaged their getting back together, but she was certainly glad they had. She couldn't help it; she reached out to caress his cheek. The rest of him was well covered by the bedclothes or she would have sent her hands elsewhere.

Her life had been transformed since marriage. It was just so wonderful to have a man in her life; someone to share jokes with, to steal little kisses and affection throughout the day; someone with whom to discuss the news from Avonlea, and further afield. She honestly hadn't appreciated what she was missing. She adored Matthew, but he was no substitute for John, apart from the physical side, he was for the most part silent. He rarely initiated a conversation. Though to be honest one time he did had resulted in their adopting Anne. Imagine what would have happened if he'd done it more often?

Oh Anne. Marilla thought about the transformation when she dropped unexpectedly into their lives. Hitherto they had been two people living side by side; Anne made them into a family. Matthew had never said a thing about it previously, but he loved being a father. They had a special bond those two. She had expressed it crudely at the time, commenting that they were both queer enough. In all honesty she was rather perplexed by his insistence that they keep Anne. It was as though Anne cast a spell over him. She lay with a smile on her face as she thought about that young sprite, the vivid, imaginative, impetuous child with her heart of love, and her world of fancy, bringing with her colour and warmth and radiance, until the wilderness of existence had blossomed like the rose. Avonlea had never seen anything like her. Marilla had to admit that she had rather liked being unconventional; so introducing Anne to her quiet little community had been rather satisfying.

John rolled onto his back, muttered and recommenced snoring. Marilla couldn't sleep now anyway, so she just smiled and left him to it.

It was astonishing really that Anne was so well adjusted. Considering her past, which came out in bit and pieces over the years, she should have been more damaged. The life of an orphan child was never easy. Perhaps that was why she found it so hard to believe in Gilbert's affection. Her self-esteem was so low when she first arrived that it was impossible for her to believe that anyone, let alone a popular boy, could like her. It made Marilla sad to think how little time Anne had spent with her at Green Gables; before she knew it Anne was all grown up and married.

* * *

She nodded off at the breakfast table. "Still tired Marilla?" John teased.

"Yes, I didn't sleep well."

"Why was that?"

"You were snoring."

"Me? Are you sure it was me?"

She smiled "pretty sure". She gave a tremendous yawn.

"Maybe you should go back to bed?"

"You know I think I might."

"Shall we go for a walk this afternoon, catch some of these stunning fall colours?"

"That sounds lovely."

John watched his statuesque wife walk back up the stairs, feeling a little guilty that he had kept her awake during the night.

* * *

Marilla came down a couple of hours later, much refreshed.

"Are you feeling better Marilla?"

"Yes much improved."

"I'm so sorry I kept you awake."

"I must admit it never happened when I slept alone."

"Oh, any regrets?"

"No, not at all, apart from the odd snore, I sleep better than I ever have. I know I'd rather be Mrs Blythe snoring and all."

"Here I've prepared some lunch."

"Could be breakfast?"

"Well it's probably too late for breakfast. Are you hungry?"

Marilla considered. "Yes I suppose I am."

"Well it doesn't matter what we call it, let's just get you fed either way." Marilla did love him, he cared for her like no one ever had before.

* * *

After whatever meal it was and a cup of coffee they left for their walk, rugged up in coats, scarves, hats and gloves. There was an autumnal chill in the air. October was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the loveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunned themselves in aftermaths.

Marilla took John's arm and they sauntered along the path waving at Rachel in the window as they passed her house. They strolled along with no particular destination in mind. "Anne always loved this time of the year." Marilla mused. "She once said I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it?"

"She transformed your life didn't she?"

"Yes, apart from you, she was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I always thought our two children belonged together."

"So did Rachel."

"What about you?"

"Well I had my own troubled history with the Blythe family, I was hardly one to judge."

"They certainly took their time deciding though, didn't they?" John smiled.

"I think Anne hardly knew what to make of his attention at first. I suspect her rough beginning didn't help."

"It was bad wasn't it?"

"The worst. She was used and abused. She had never experienced love when she first arrived."

"Oh poor Anne" John replied "and yet she was so affectionate herself."

"Yes it was a marvel really."

"Look here's Barry's Pond."

"Anne christened it The Lake of Shining Waters." Marilla reflected.

"She would."

"Yes, she was always such a romantic. Did Gilbert ever tell you how he saved her life here?"

I think so. Tell me Anne's version?" John enquired.

"The girls were playing the Tennyson's Elaine. Anne was lying in a flat and they sent her off down the pond, but the boat had a leak, which she discovered when her dress got wet. The boat was sinking and she clambered up onto bridge pile when along came Gilbert who gallantly rescued her." _  
_

"But she still refused his affections afterwards?"

"Yes the silly goose. I suspect she was terrified."

"Terrified?" John was surprised, Anne always seemed so brave, "what was there to be terrified about?"

"She didn't have any examples of stable relationships. Her own feelings for him confused her, so it was easier to repel than embrace him. It took her many years to sort it out in her mind. She read so many romantic novels they gave her a warped idea of what a suitor should look like. So when she met Roy Gardner initially she thought he was her ideal. Of course he wasn't right for her, or so she admitted to me later. I suppose she hurt Gilbert terribly."

"Yes. When she rejected his first proposal he was devastated." John replied remorsefully.

"Poor boy."

"Yes and they both tried other beaux, Christine for Gilbert and that Roy fellow for Anne. But we all knew they were made for each other."

"It was a shame Anne never realised until Gilbert nearly died from typhoid," Marilla admitted.

"But they got there in the end. It seemed like it took forever, but compared to us their courtship was fast."

"Oh yes, anything would be compared to us." Marilla laughed, "I doubt there's ever been as long a courtship as ours."


	16. Chapter 16 A Shadowless Spirit

**A Shadowless Spirit***

 _Dear Aunt Marilla_

 _We met a new girl today she had been hiding in the Meredith's barn. Her name is Mary Vance. She was living over the harbour with some mean lady who used to beat her, she worked her half to death and starved her. She's a bit naughty Aunt Marilla, she swears, but I don't think it's her fault. She's never had no one to love her since her parents died. She says she's had all sorts of diseases like scarlet fever and pewmonia. She didn't like that place though, so she ran away._

 _She's been living with the Meredith's for a bit and we all like her well enough._

 _Love your grandson Jem_

* * *

Jem's childish words took Marilla right back to a conversation with young Anne about a year after she joined them at Green Gables. They had been sitting outside on the veranda shelling peas when, in a small voice, Anne said that this was just about a perfect day. "I hadn't had any of them before I came to Green Gables, you know."

Marilla was quiet. It was so seldom that Anne confided in her about her childhood. Marilla knew she'd been orphaned at an early age, but the years between that and her arrival to Avonlea were virtually a blank.

"First of all I lived with the Thomas's, I was only little then of course, but as soon as I was old enough they put me to work looking after their four children. I was never loved like their children were, I was always kept apart. They never treated me like one of the family. I never had a childhood."

Marilla wanted to cry, but she didn't want to interrupt.

"I had to get up before anyone else, set the fires and empty their chamber pots. I started changing diapers when I was four. When I was eight Mr Thomas died and they sent me to the Hammond's. I cooked and minded their eight children including changing all the diapers. I had to clean the house, milk the cow, fetch water, and launder the clothes. I always had chilblains in winter; they were so painful. The problem was that I'd get caught up in daydreams; you know how I can do that Marilla?"

Marilla nodded, the tears welling up in her eyes.

"So I'd get behind in my chores and they'd beat me. They were awfully poor; often we all went to bed hungry, but sometimes they withheld food as punishment. I'd have to cook for the others, but I wouldn't get any for myself. I had an imaginary friend Marilla, Katie Maurice. Their bookcase had two pieces of glass, though Mr Thomas had smashed one when he was intoxicated. I could see Katie in the remaining one. I could whisper her all my secrets and woes. She never spoke back or anything like that", Anne hastened to add, lest Marilla think she was crazy, "but it was comforting to know I had a friend."

"The children knew I was inferior, so they wouldn't let me play with them and they wouldn't obey me if I tried to get them to bed or to dinner. I'd get beaten for that too. One time I got distracted in a beautiful daydream about Princess Cordelia high in her turret waiting for her prince to come and rescue her, when I was supposed to be cooking, and I burnt the dinner. Mrs Hammond screamed that I was a lazy good-for-nothing and when Mr Hammond got home he thrashed me with his belt. I was only nine, Marilla."

Anne's dispassionate retelling of her story was too much to bear. "Then Mr Hammond died and they sent me to the asylum. That wasn't much better, it was overcrowded, the staff were very strict and the children were ..."

Marilla stood up suddenly. The peas flew everywhere. She quickly strode over to Anne and gathered her into her arms, the little green orbs still bouncing to the ground. The sudden outburst of emotion caused them both to weep. "Anne, you're safe here. We'll never let any harm come to you again."

* * *

Later that night Marilla relayed the conversation to Matthew. Her tears freely flowing "I just can't see why anyone would abuse a small child like that Matthew? She was beaten, starved, unloved."

Matthew looked at her, almost in tears himself. Neither of them had been parents before, but they'd never treat a living being that badly, it would never occur to them. "We can't fix her past Marilla; all we can do is let her know she's well and truly loved now."

Marilla wiped her eyes on her handkerchief. "Yes. You know you said it right when she first arrived, I asked what good could she be to us? And you said we might be some good to her. Matthew, you've never been more correct than in that moment."

* * *

Back in the present she read through Jem's letter again, this girl sounded quite different to Anne, but then Anne was unique.

She wrote a quick note.

 _Dearest Anne,_

 _Jem told me about Mary Vance, I hope you see this girl is looked after. Her story reminds me so much of you at the same age. No one deserves that._

 _All my love_

 _Marilla_

* The title is from the poem _Shut Out_ by Christina Rosetti

A/N Thanks to **Excel Aunt** for her pea imagery.


	17. Chapter 17 O Joie Infinie et Supreme

_A little Australian flavour for Australia Day!_

 **Ô joie infinie et supreme**

Va! ce moment est doux!  
Ô joie infinie et suprême  
De mourir avec toi! Viens! un baiser!  
Je t'aime! _*_

There was a pause after the last notes died away as the audience processed their emotions. Marilla had tears running down her face, even John was somewhat misty eyed.

"Brava Brava", the audience rose as one for a stupendous standing ovation.

* * *

Marilla arrived home from town one day with the usual assortment of letters. "Look here, John, there's a letter from that nice couple we met at White Sands last year, the Smithers."

"What do they have to say?"

Marilla scanned it quickly, "They want to invite us to New York for a concert, and they have some spare tickets to see Madame Nellie Melba perform in Romeo and Juliet."***

"Is she the Australian opera singer?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Sounds wonderful, feel like going back to New York, Mar?" She looked at him. They had enjoyed a lovely trip down there the previous year.

"Yes, let's. The concert is in April."

"That gives us plenty of time to prepare."

* * *

They watched their island disappear from view; it was disconcerting, everyone they knew, all their lives occurred on that little slip of land. Once the ferry landed on the mainland, they boarded the train to New York City. John had booked them a sleeping carriage. They had gotten up early to catch the ferry and were hungry, so the first thing they did was visit the dining car.

"What'll you have Mar?"

"I think I'll have the chicken pie and a cup of coffee."

"Sounds perfect."

Now replete with a delicious meal consumed they weaved their way back down the corridor to their own carriage and locked the door behind them.

"Have you got the guide book there, John, I'd like to do some research?"

"Research? I want to kiss you." He nibbled her earlobe and caressed her. Marilla put down the book and kissed him back.

"Oh get you on a train and you only have one thought."

"I can't help it, Mar, the combination of the rocking train and you, is irresistible."

Languid after their exertion, they napped. The porter knocked on the door after dinner and put down their bed for the night.

* * *

The stench of rotting horse manure was the first thing that struck Marilla upon alighting from the train at Grand Central Station. The New York authorities were worried about the amount of horse manure that was coating the streets. It was predicted that if something weren't done soon, the city would be ten feet deep in manure in fifty years. As she and John walked along the city street they passed by a particularly smelly laneway. Marilla couldn't help glancing down it, only to identify the cause of the stench. There was a large lump on the side of the lane.

"That's a dead nag" drawled a passer-by "they have to let 'em rot a bit before they can dismember it and drag it away. Just one of the benefits of living in the city, I reckon."** They shuddered thinking of their beautiful and faithful horse back in Avonlea being cared for by Davey and Millie. This ghastly fate would never await him.

They quickly made their way to a waiting carriage and asked the driver to take them to their hotel at Madison Square Garden. It was a delightful room with a bathroom en suite. Marilla was looking forward to a hot bath; they didn't have hot running water on the Island.

That afternoon they were reunited with Andrew and Constance Smithers. They met each other in the foyer of their hotel. "How delightful to see you, thank you so much for the opportunity to come down here and to see Madame Melba. We are very appreciative."

"It's our pleasure, we were given extra tickets***, and we thought you might enjoy it. What do you think of New York?"

"It's amazing, though if you don't mind my saying it is a bit smelly." Marilla admitted.

"Oh we know, it's terrible isn't it. I do hope they come up with a solution one day. The problem is not nearly as dire in our little city of Richmond."

"I'm sure you're familiar with the story of Romeo and Juliet?" Constance enquired.

"A little bit" John admitted.

"Well, it's the story of two star crossed lovers as Shakespeare put it. Juliet Capulet and Romeo Montague. Their families are sworn enemies and the two lovers meet, fall in love, get married and eventually they kill themselves rather than be parted. I should warn you, the libretto is in French. Madame Melba has the voice of the ages; it is simply delicious in its fullness, richness and purity. I do hope you enjoy the performance."

"I'm sure we will, we've never been to the opera before."

"Are you busy tonight, we would like to take you out to dinner?" Andrew asked.

"That would be lovely, thank you very much." John replied.

"We'll take a carriage there, it's not far."

They alighted at the Hotel Marlborough, a grand many-storied building on a corner. The restaurant was sumptuous with large chandeliers, leather seats, long blue curtains against the windows, classical paintings on the wall and white linen tablecloths. Marilla and John felt quite provincial. They followed the Smithers to their table and waited while the waiter pulled out their chairs. Once they had sat down the waiter made a great show of flourishing their napkins before placing them on their laps.

"Would you care for a drink before dinner?"

John glanced over at Marilla who nodded. They didn't drink as a rule, but they didn't want to offend their hosts. "Yes, that sounds wonderful."

"A bottle of Dom Perignon please." Andrew ordered.

Marilla and John weren't sure what that was, but it sounded exotic. When it arrived it turned out to be French champagne. "As the opera tomorrow night is sung in French, I thought I would adhere to the Francophile theme" Andrew announced "and this champagne is my favourite."

The waiter poured the light golden fizzy liquid into shallow champagne glasses. Constance whispered to Marilla "The shape of the glass is supposed to mimic Marie Antoinette's breast." Marilla's eyes widened in shock.

"To friendship!" They toasted each other and sipped the champagne. Marilla was almost too stunned to touch her glass, but found the drink delicious when she did.

* * *

The next day dawned warm and sunny. Marilla and John had a day of sightseeing planned before the opera that night.

"What shall we do Mar?"

"I think I'd like to explore Central Park, John." They took a trolley car uptown to the park.

Wandering around aimlessly they came upon gaily-coloured carousel. "Shall we have a ride, Mar?"

"Oh yes, it looks like fun."

They paid the attendant some money and climbed aboard a horse each. Marilla rode a white horse with a red saddle and next to her, John a bay with a green one. The carousel rotated as music played.

"The children would love this, John." Marilla called over the music.

When the ride was over they continued their stroll around the park marvelling at the people, the ornamental lakes, the ice rink and finally at the Minton tile ceiling in the Bethesda Terrace. "Look Mar, these niches look as though they are inlaid, but if you touch them, they're flat. That's clever."

After a spot of lunch they made their way back to their hotel for a rest before the opera at night.

Marilla enjoyed another bath and dressed up in her finest gown. "John, can you give me a hand here, I can't get this last button done up?"

John was happy to help her dress; he always took the opportunity for a quick kiss. Usually she responded, but tonight she was preoccupied.

* * *

The Metropolitan Opera was an imposing building. Inside the foyer was sumptuously lit with enormous chandeliers. Tiled floors and masses of well dressed ladies and gentlemen milling around chatting and laughing made it appear very opulent. Marilla and John felt more provincial than ever. With relief they spied the Smithers in one corner. "We bought you a program each which should help you with the plot. Shall we make our way inside?"

Their seats were located in a private box directly in front of the stage giving them a clear view of the stage. They could clearly see that the theatre was massive, at least five stories high with people sitting at every conceivable angle. The lights dimmed and the overture started. Marilla and John were entranced. With some assistance from the program they followed every twist and turn of the plot. The audience sighed and cried along with the players.

Juliet sang

Ah! –  
Je veux vivre  
Dans le rêve qui m'enivre;  
Ce jour encor,  
Douce flamme,  
Je te garde dans mon âme  
Comme un trésor!  
Je veux vivre, etc.  
Cette ivresse  
De jeunesse  
Ne dure, hélas! qu'un jour!  
Puis vient l'heure  
Où l'on pleure,  
Le cœur cède à l'amour  
Et le bonheur fuit sans retour.  
Ah! – Je veux vivre, etc.  
Loin de l'hiver morose  
Laisse-moi sommeiller  
Et respirer la rose,  
Respirer la rose  
Avant de l'effeuiller.  
Ah! – Ah! – Ah! –  
Douce flamme,  
Reste dans mon âme  
Comme un doux trésor  
Longtemps encor!  
Ah! – Comme un trésor  
Longtemps encor!****

Marilla's heart soared with the beauty of the words. She understood barely a word, but Madame Melba sang with the voice of an angel and much to everyone's surprise sang the whole aria through again as an encore.

"Madame Melba" cried Mrs Smithers, "how lovely to meet you again. Please let me introduce some fellow members of the British Empire. Mr and Mrs Blythe from Canada."

"Good evening, nice to meet you." Marilla had just gotten used to the New York accent, but the Australian accent was different again, they have flat vowels she thought.

"Very nice to meet you too, that was a divine performance. I was in tears."

"Not at the singing I hope?" Madame Melba laughed.

"Oh, no indeed not. The story is so moving, so tragic. Those young people killing themselves for love."

"Yes it's a tragic story. I enjoy singing it, it's so sad."

Back in bed at their hotel John and Marilla discussed their evening. "Well Marilla, I don't know how often we'll be able to come back down here, but that was a marvellous day and night. What did you think?"

"I think I'm happy I live in modern times and that my parents approved of my choices in love." She leant over to kiss him and he turned off the light.

* * *

* Ah! this moment is sweet!  
O infinite, supreme joy  
of dying with you! Come! One kiss!  
I love you!

** Sorry about that, but it's true; all big cities were drowning in manure. A horse's working life was only about three years. If they dropped in the harness there was no easy way to get rid of the body. The automobile was actually considered a clean solution.

*** Nellie Melba's New York tour was not actually terribly successful, so it wouldn't have been that difficult for the Smithers to get tickets for Marilla and John.

****Ah! –  
I want to live  
in this intoxicating dream!  
This day still,  
gentle flame,  
I keep you in my heart  
like a treasure!  
I want to live, etc.  
This intoxication  
of youth  
alas! lasts but a day!  
Then comes the time  
when one weeps,  
the heart surrenders to love  
and happiness flies off for ever!  
Ah! – I want to live,  
Far from sullen winter  
let me slumber  
and breathe the rose,  
breathe the rose  
before despoiling it.  
Ah! – Ah! – Ah! –  
Gentle flame,  
stay in my heart  
like a sweet treasure  
for a long while yet.  
Ah! – like a treasure  
for a long while yet!

A/N You can find a recording of Nellie Melba singing Juliet on Youtube.


	18. Chapter 18 News from New York City

_Marilla died in my last story, but thanks to FanFic, here she is alive and well. I'm dedicating this story to **Elizasky** who loves to see the children chatting with their grandparents. _

**News from New York City**

"Marilla how wonderful to see you safely home. How were the Yankees this time?"

"They were just fine Rachel, we had a marvellous time."

"Did you see Madame Melba?"*

"We did, we were even introduced."

"Oh my goodness."

"Here Rachel, I bought you back a present."

She handed over two boxes. "Open this one first." Rachel felt the box; it was quite heavy for its size.

"Careful, it's fragile."

Rachel undid the packaging and found a bottle of champagne inside. "Marilla Blythe! Alcohol?"

"Yes, it's French champagne, it's delicious. Now open the other one, it's fragile too."

Even more delicately Rachel opened the second, lighter package. Within there were six shallow glasses. She pulled one out inquisitively and held it up to the light.

"It's a champagne glass Rachel, the shape is supposed to mimic Marie Antoinette's breasts." Marilla giggled.

Rachel turned to her in shock. "Her what now?"

"Yes, if you look at it, you can see what they mean." Marilla demonstrated, cupping two glasses to her breasts.

"Well she was small bosomed like you, that's what." Rachel held the glasses to her own rather larger proportioned breasts for comparison.

The ladies laughed uproariously together. "I don't know if I'll ever actually use them, but thank you anyway, I think." Rachel said once she recovered.

* * *

They had returned home from New York via Ingleside. Marilla and John always took the opportunity to visit their grandchildren. Every time they saw them, they noticed small changes. The children would keep growing.

Gilbert picked them up from the train station. He bought Shirley along for the ride knowing how much John and he loved each other. It was heart warming to witness their special bond. Gilbert didn't always understand his third son; perhaps it was because of his perilous birth, and the fact that Susan bought him up at the beginning. He seemed somewhat detached from the rest of the family, but John made up for that. He and Shirley were very close. They sat together at the back of the carriage and had a private conversation. Marilla sat up the front with Gilbert. They chatted about the local gossip, Marilla wanted to wait until dinnertime to share their New York stories.

They arrived at Ingleside in due course and the rest of the family tumbled out to greet the weary travellers. Marilla was keen to kiss everyone and marvelled at how they had grown, particularly little Rilla. She bent down to pick her up and said "Oof darling, soon you'll be too big for me to pick you up, you're growing so fast." she gave Rilla a quick kiss on the cheek before depositing her back on the ground.

"Let's go in for a cup of tea, Susan has baked a lemon pie for us. Do you want to wash up?" Anne asked.

"Yes please, I always find the train very dirty."

* * *

The next day Marilla and John asked the children to take them down to the famous Rainbow Valley. The children were happy to oblige, eager to have their grandparents to themselves for the day.

They made a merry party. John carried little Rilla in one arm, and held onto Shirley's hand with the other. Marilla held Di and Nan's hands, while Jem and Walter carried the picnic basket. The children found a special spot for lunch. John spread out the picnic blanket and Marilla sat down, immediately Rilla clambered onto her lap and after John sat down, Shirley sat on his.

"Tell us about New York Grandpa" Jem asked. "No one we know has ever been there."

"Well" said John "it's big. There are lots of people there, about one and a half million and the buildings are very tall, there's one building that is eighteen stories high!"

"What's a story?" Rilla asked.

"A storey is a floor, Ingleside is two stories." John explained. The children craned their necks upwards trying to imagine something that tall.

"There are all sorts of lovely things to do there," Marilla continued, "There's a very big statue of a woman in the middle of the harbour, The Liberty Statue."

"You sent us a postcard last year Aunt Marilla."

"Oh yes so we did. The people of France gave it to the city of New York."

"They all have a funny accent", John added, "We had to strain to understand them."

"Remember the Italian food we had one night?" Marilla reminded him.

"Oh yes, the spaghetti looked like a plate of worms."

"Oh yuck", Walter exclaimed.

"You'd think so, but it was delicious, wasn't it Marilla?"

"John tell them about your turn in a vaudevillian act."

"Oh yes that was funny." The children were delighted, their grandpa in a show, on stage!

"We went to see a show in a grand theatre, there were all sorts of acts. First of all there was a trained dog performing all sorts of tricks, he walked on his front legs, caught balls and balanced on a tightrope. Then there were comedians and Italian singers and then a magician!"

"The Great Stupendo" Marilla interjected.

John nodded at her "yes The Great Stupendo came on stage and asked me to join him. I couldn't refuse."

"What about you Aunt Maywilla? What did you do?" Rilla giggled.

"I just sat there and worried, particularly when the The Great Stupendo offered to make Grandpa disappear. I certainly didn't want that to happen."

"But he would have brought him back." Jem assured her.

"I didn't want to take the risk, Jem."

"So what did you have to do Grandpa?" Di asked, entranced.

"He asked me to take a card and show the audience, but not him, then I put it back in the pack and he found it again."

"How did he do that?"

"We have no idea. It was magic I suppose." The children looked amazed.

"Talking about magic, down there they have hot running water." Marilla explained.

"What do you mean Aunt Marilla?" Nan asked.

"I mean that if you want a hot bath, all you have to do is turn a tap and boiling hot water comes out. The tap is located over a sink or bath and the water is captured within. It's so hot, you have to mix cold water with it, or it will burn you. No lugging water in and heating it up on the fire on bath days. In fact you can have a bath every day."

"Which is just as well because it's pretty stinky down there." John added.

"It is a bit smelly." Marilla agreed.

"Why is it smelly Grandad?" Shirley asked.

"Because of all the horse poo, Shirley." The children giggled, Grandpa said a bad word. Marilla shot him a dark look. "Manure then, there's so many horses that the manure is everywhere. It's getting to be a real problem." By mutual unspoken decision, they didn't mention the other horse related problem New York was facing.

"To get away from the smell we went out to Coney Island one day." Marilla said.

"Oh yes, we strolled along the promenade and ate ice cream cones, remember."

"Yes I had chocolate and you had strawberry, delicious." Marilla smiled at the memory.

"It was hot that day, the ice cream melted very quickly." The children couldn't imagine their grandparents eating ice cream cones in public. It was a bit scandalous.

"Americans all seem to think there are bears everywhere in Canada." John explained.

"Bears? Grandpa, why would they think that?" Jem was incredulous "We don't have any bears here."

"And they think it's perpetually cold too, snowy all year long."

That got a big laugh.

"But why bears, Grandpa?" Nan wanted to know.

"I think they think it's a bit wilder here than it really is. I mean, yes we have bears in Canada, but not here on Prince Edward Island. Marilla tell them about Longacre Square."

"Oh yes, that was beautiful. They have thousands of electrical lights there. At night it was as bright as midday, you could read a book by them."

"Oooh."

"And they are all sorts of colours too. I believe they have ice-skating there in the winter.

"Does it get cold enough?" Di asked.

"Yes I believe so."

"What was your favourite part Aunt Marilla?" Nan asked.

"I liked the art museum, there were many fine paintings there, and apart from that I liked Central Park, we even found a carousel there, we remarked that you would love it. But there were too many people there for me; it was too busy. It's a nice place to go for a vacation, but I prefer to live here."

"Is it time to go back home? I'm getting a bit stiff sitting here. Somebody give me a hand." Jem sprung up and gave his grandmother a hand.

* * *

The next day Anne had a surprise organised. She wanted the whole family to have their photograph taken. She bustled around and told all the children to wear their best clothes. The boys grumbled; it wasn't a Sunday. They hated wearing their suits. Marilla admonished them and told them to mind their mother. She was excited too; a picture was a special thing, a family record. She was looking forward to having a framed photograph in her parlour. "When you grow up boys, you'll look back and thank your mother for this."

The photographer arrived; he was wearing a black suit with a tall black top hat. He had a handlebar moustache and pomaded hair. The boys giggled privately. He organised them all into a large group outside, the smaller children sitting at the front, Marilla and Anne sitting in chairs in the middle with Gilbert and John behind their respective wives and the older children to either side. It was a long exposure, so they couldn't smile. They just had to stand stock still for the longest time. Eventually the photographer declared the photograph finished and they all moved and stretched. "Now we will break into smaller groups. You, for instance Madame." He pointed at Marilla. She and John stood together until the photograph was finished. "And the family." They stood, the boys dying to fidget, but on pain of death staying still. Finally the photographs were finished and the photographer declared they would be ready to pick up in Charlottetown in a month.

After a short visit, John and Marilla said their goodbyes and returned home. Marilla had a present to deliver to Rachel, she was looking forward to her reaction.

* Aussie readers might wonder why I refer to her as Madame Melba here, that's because she wasn't created a Dame until 1918.

A/N if you are looking for an account of their trip to NYC you will find it in Chapter 2 of Married is the Nicest Thing to Be rated M.


	19. Chapter 19 Dance with the Devil

**Dance with the Devil**

"Well of course Robert never thought the twins were his."*

* * *

Marilla and John were in bed enjoying one of those silly moments couples share. He started tickling her bare legs with his toes, she squirmed giggling and tickled him back. She turned over and John spooned into her back giving him easy access to her stomach, which he gently tickled while he kissed her shoulder. Marilla thought this might possibly one of her favourite aspects of marriage.

She said as much to John the next morning over breakfast. "Really darling, your favourite?" John teased.

"Well that's nice too" Marilla admitted, "but not every night."

"It could be."

"Please no, I think I'd die of exhaustion." John reached over and took her work-worn hand in his and gently kissed each knuckle individually.

* * *

Over a coffee at Rachel's that afternoon she mentioned it again. "It's all those little caresses that I never knew I missed Rachel. No one ever told me about them. All the concerns I had about the other thing, this is the nicest part."

"Yes I must admit I miss it. Our roles are reversed now Marilla."

Well nearly Rachel, I won't be having ten children."

"Do you regret that?"

"Not now of course. I have all my grand babies. But back then watching from afar as your belly swelled and out would pop…"

At this Rachel snorted. "They hardly _pop_ out Marilla."

Marilla acknowledged the comment with a nod and a smile. "You know what I mean. You kept having them. I'd hug and kiss them; but I'd be weeping when I returned home. I would have liked babies of my own."

"Oh dear, I never thought you'd be so upset."

"Rachel, I loved that you kept having them, and I certainly never expected you to stop on my account, but there were ever so many of them."

"Yes I know, Thomas only had to look at me and I'd fall pregnant."

"He should have shut his eyes occasionally then." Marilla quipped.

Rachel roared with laughter. "Maybe, but I love them all, so maybe not.

They heard a knock at the door. "Oh that will be John, he said he'd join us." Rachel admitted him and he joined them at the table. Rachel refilled the coffee pot and he accepted a cup.

Talk turned to the recent funeral they had all attended. One of the doyens of the Boulter family had passed away. Robert Boulter had been an upstanding member of the Avonlea community; he would be missed. The Boulters had farmed in Avonlea for many years; their third daughter Tilly had been at school with Anne.

"Well of course Robert never thought the twins were his." Rachel sipped her coffee, her eyes twinkling; she leaned back in her chair as she lobbed this bombshell into the conversation.

"Do tell?" John urged.

"Rachel you mustn't say such things, that's how rumours start. And you John, don't encourage her." Marilla rebuked.

"It's true though. They certainly didn't get his blond hair, you'd think they'd be tow-haired, but that girl's hair is as black as a crow and his isn't much lighter."

"Rachel you know as well as I, that doesn't prove anything."

There was a silence as they considered the ramifications of this revelation. "Well it's all so long ago. Did he ever say anything to Lily?" Marilla enquired.

"He said something to someone, else I wouldn't know myself."

"I'm sure she was faithful, he was a loving husband."

"Well we never know what happens in a marriage, Marilla. They're not always straightforward. It may only have happened the once. Of course it's a terrible sin regardless. It's breaking one of the Ten Commandments, doesn't get much more serious than that."

"No, no it doesn't. Which is why I find it so hard to believe. Lily Boulter is a lovely woman; I can't believe she would behave in that manner." Marilla sipped her coffee as she thought about the now maligned Lily Boulter. Having lost a husband, was all Avonlea now speculating about the spectre of infidelity? "Have you mentioned this to anyone else Rachel?"

"You know how I hate to gossip, Marilla." Marilla's eyes rolled so hard John thought they might fall out of her head, while he smirked. "I don't!" Rachel emphasised.

"Well make sure this story doesn't leave this room, Rachel. If anything did happen it was long ago. Poor Lily has enough to contend with, without this sort of slander being bandied around."

It was such juicy gossip that Rachel almost felt it was unfair of Marilla to gag her, but she acknowledged that she did have a point. "All right, I promise I'll keep it to myself."

"I wish you hadn't said anything to me Rachel. How will I face her or the twins at church on Sunday when I'm speculating on possible adultery?"

"I hadn't thought of it like that. It's probably just a rumour. Forget I said anything."

"That's the problem Rachel, I can't forget it. It's out there now and you can't retract information like that."

Strolling back home that winter afternoon, the snow drifting up against the trees and icicles hanging from the bare branches, John took Marilla's arm in his own. "You'll be true to me always, won't you Mar?" She squeezed his mittened hand with her own.

"Yes John. You won't catch me dancing with the Devil and you had better not either." They smiled at each other and walked home in the twilight.

* Excellent line overhead by my husband in a small town one day.


	20. Chapter 20 A Mother's Heart

_Here's another Marilla story. I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading and reviewing._

 **A Mother's Heart**

All her life, wherever Marilla Cuthbert went in Avonlea, there were muttered asides:

" _Look at her with that John Blythe, kissing in public, it's scandalous."_

 _"Her bad temper has caught up with her now, he's left her and it doesn't look like he's coming back. Serves her right."_

 _"What must it be like to be childless?"_

 _"Well it's her own fault."_

 _"She's conceited."_

 _"Personally I find her intimidating."_

 _"Personally I find her irritating."_

 _"She's a skinny old thing."_

 _"She's stuck up, she isn't any better than the rest of us."_

 _"Going by Marilla doesn't fool anyone, she's just an old maid."_

" _Now she's gone and adopted that red-haired hot-tempered orphan."_

 _"Getting married at her age, who does she think she is?"_

Marilla let it all wash over her. She hardened her heart to them all.

* * *

Rachel loved Marilla, but even she had to admit they were polar opposites. Rachel was short and stout where Marilla was tall and slender; skinny some might say. Rachel lived to gossip, to share news. Marilla was quiet. At their Ladies Aid meetings Marilla preferred to sit back and listen, only speaking when asked a direct question. She was a good listener though and when she did speak it was always to the point.

Marilla noticed that Rachel was in the family way again. Sometimes it was hard to tell; Rachel's stout belly hid it for the first few months. How many was it now? Marilla counted them on her fingers, this would be number seven. Marilla sighed; Rachel was the most fertile person she knew. There were always children under foot at her house. Rachel said she loved having little babies. She loved the smell of them, feeding them; the bond that they formed filled her with joy. As soon as she weaned one, she conceived another. She was good at it, Marilla had to admit; six children living was no mean feat.

Rachel got rounder and fatter. Marilla visited her more often as Rachel's mobility was constrained. They would sit on Rachel's sofa as the hired girl fetched them tea. Rachel was feeling massive as she usually did around this point, uncomfortable and uncoordinated. She wouldn't have welcomed many people into her home by this stage of her pregnancy, but Marilla was a trusted friend. Rachel could relax around her even if Marilla had never had children. She could moan as much as she liked and Marilla would just listen and commiserate, not judge or compare.

Marilla paid a visit shortly after the baby was born; another boy. He was darling as usual; the Lyndes were all beautiful children. Marilla didn't have a great deal of experience with little babies, but she had held enough of Rachel's over the years. She felt a maternal tug as she held this tiny little one. It rooted around her chest. "Oh he's looking for a drink, hand him over." Rachel held her arms out to place him at her breast. Somewhat reluctantly Marilla handed him back. She certainly couldn't provide anything for him herself. "He's beautiful Rachel."

"Yes, another handsome little boy. That makes seven now. Seems I'm pretty good at this baby making business." Rachel was oblivious to Marilla's regret.

As she walked home, Marilla could feel her eyes prickling she wiped the tears away impatiently. It was ridiculous to feel this way. It was too late now; she just had to enjoy babies vicariously.

Over dinner that night, Matthew enquired about the new baby. Marilla told him about the little mite, the way it was looking to her for milk. She broke down at that point. Matthew was shocked; his sister never let her emotions get the better of her. She wept; he took her hand to comfort her. "It's ridiculous I know Matthew, but I always hoped I would have some of my own. To watch her almost carelessly pop them out; it's just too hard sometimes. Did you expect to have children when you were young too?" Matthew hadn't, but he commiserated with his sister.

* * *

 _Gilbert ran down the hall and tapped on the spare-room door. A drowsy voice answered him and in a moment Marilla's pale, scared face peeped out from behind the door. "Marilla, Anne has sent me to tell you that a certain young gentleman has arrived here. He hasn't bought much luggage with him, but he evidently means to stay._ *

Marilla peeked around the corner of the door shyly and Anne welcomed her in to meet her brand new grandson. "James Matthew meet your grandmother." Marilla picked up the swaddled newborn and bent her head to breathe in his warm aroma**. Finally, here was a baby she didn't have to give back. She could feel tears at the corners of her eyes. "Are you upset Marilla?" Anne asked curiously.

"No, I'm happy. I've waited a long time to hold a babe of my own, Anne." She swayed back and forth as she watched his tiny face. Jem yawned and looked straight into her eyes. "I think he's going to have red hair like you." Anne grimaced, but Marilla's heart sang. She bent down to kiss his forehead ever so gently. Being a grandmother was quite as wonderful as being a mother.

* Anne's House of Dreams  
** I did this when my first daughter was born, expecting a milky smell. Unfortunately newborn babies smell of amniotic fluid which is more akin to swamp water than anything else. Delusions shattered.


	21. Chapter 21 Breaking the Drought

**Breaking the drought**

 _She stood swaying gently with baby Jem cradled in her arms. His wispy red hair glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window. Jem yawned and looked straight into her eyes._

That night Anne crept into the spare room with a sleeping Jem in her arms. Marilla roused briefly and Anne placed the baby beside her. "I thought you might like to sleep with him Marilla." The proud grandmother turned her body to accommodate the baby, marveling at the sensation of his wee body lying next to hers. Grandmother and grandson slept soundly together until Jem's empty tummy woke him up and Marilla returned him to his mother's breast.

* * *

Marilla sighed and rolled over in bed. John lay next to her sleeping still. She reached over to caress him and he stirred. Half asleep, he reached out and pulled her closer. She laid her arm across his chest and leaned in resting her head against his armpit. Her head rose and fell gently with each breath. This physicality had been absent from her life for so long.

She supposed if she really thought about it, it was baby Jem who had first broken this drought of human touch. Young Anne had been too old and she wasn't really ready for it back then. At that point it had been many decades since she had truly been hugged, not since she and John had parted company. Matthew and her parents were still alive then, but they had been a private non-tactile family, not given to physical displays of affection. When Anne arrived she didn't really know how to express her love for her, hugs and kisses hadn't come naturally.

It was only when she met wee baby Jem and had him cradled in her arms that she felt the beautiful throb of motherhood. When he was older he would fling his arms about her and she would almost cry, not just at his gesture of love, but also at the simple touch of his arms. He of course had no idea of the effect of his actions. But it broke down a wall she never even knew she had erected between herself and the world.

John stirred, feeling the weight of her head. He moved his hand around to stroke her hair. "Mmm?" she murmured.

"I do love you Marilla Blythe. I love to wake up with you in my arms."

She tilted her face up to him and he leant in to kiss her though the angle was awkward. He shifted over to his side, the better to reach her. They both spent some minutes caressing each other's faces tenderly.

"Were you asleep?"

"I was thinking."

"About what?"

"Well about touch, I guess."

"Touch? What do you mean?"

"After you left, there was no one to touch me. Mama and Papa weren't tactile people and of course Matthew was my brother. By the time Anne arrived, we were like two strangers living under the same roof. Anne would have loved a hug, I'm sure, but I'd lost the knack by then. Really it was only when I first met baby Jem that anyone touched me. Being a child he'd hug and poke and cuddle me quite naturally. It was quite an awakening. I almost think I would have found being married quite difficult before he was born. I'm sure I would have been far shyer with you if he hadn't broken the drought."

"Well I'm very happy he did," John grinned at her "I must remember to thank him next time I see him. Or I could write a letter 'Dear Jem, thank you for giving me your sexy grandmother…'"

"Oh John, you mustn't." Marilla giggled "that would embarrass him beyond measure."

"No, I never would. Remember how his parents reacted when we had a bit of fun at their expense. He's only a child."

"Yes, and remember when the children saw us engaging in some heavy petting in Hester Gray's garden."

"We certainly have Jem to thank for some seriously fun times, Mrs Blythe. Get your clothes off. Let's explore the sensation of touch once more, I feel I need some practice."


	22. Chapter 22 Afternoon Delight

**Afternoon Delight**

John was forking hay in the barn one day when he glanced out the window and saw Marilla dead-heading the roses. He stood still, resting the fork on the floor as his mind wandered. Marilla may have been an elderly woman, but in his mind's eye she was still the beauty he had known in his youth, with her brown hair flowing out over her shoulders at that church dance all those years ago. She was a carefree and delightful girl at that moment.

If he looked over his life he could almost pinpoint the moment their relationship failed. He thought about his words that day and his inability to read her mood. What a fool he had been. If only he had been more forgiving, more patient he could have spared her all that heartache and pain. But then, he speculated, Gilbert and their gorgeous grandchildren wouldn't have been born and poor Anne would have grown up in penury, what would her fate have been? He always thought his son Gilbert had been the wisest of them; he was certainly more patient than his old dad. Somehow Gilbert sensed that the Cuthbert and Blythe families were inextricably linked. The child was not destined to repeat his father's mistake.

John's marriage to Caroline had been a success. She was a marvellous woman, a passionate lover and a wonderful mother. They had been through a great deal together, his illness and the death of a child, but their love remained steadfast and true. It had been a terrible shock when she dropped dead so suddenly. He had cradled her cooling body in his arms and wept for her to return to him. At that moment he never expected he'd experience happiness again. But then who should come waltzing back into his heart but Marilla?

He glanced over at her again, she was still standing by the roses, a mounting pile of dead blooms at her feet. His pants twitched. He dropped the fork, slid down the ladder and raced over. She looked up in shock. "What's the matter John, are you ill?"

"I'm lovesick. Mad with desire. I want you. I need to make love now!" His urgency was infectious. Marilla laughed in shock and let him lead her up to the bedroom, undressing hastily as they ran up the stairs, a shirt here, a petticoat there, her dress puddled around her ankles at the top and she tripped over it as he pulled her towards the bed, her corset was discarded in the doorway, her chemise was flung over the dresser, his pants were thrown over the other side of the room and he pulled the covers off the bed. He kissed her all over and traced his hands over her now naked body. She reciprocated, still somewhat in shock at his haste.

Afterwards she asked "What was all that about?"

"I saw you gardening and I couldn't help myself. There's something about the way you dead-head roses I suppose, it's very erotic."

"You're an idiot, it's just as well I love you darling." They lay together and fell asleep after their exertions.

John woke before she did and watched her sleep. Her naked body felt deliciously silky against his. She had waited a long time to enjoy close intimacy and he knew she enjoyed it. They had a freedom not granted to young couples, never having to worry about the consequences of their actions.

What was he thinking about before his desire overcame him? Oh yes Caroline. He had been blessed with two amazing wives. He always admired Marilla for her compassion towards Caroline. She could so easily have been bitter, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she felt that way. But Marilla wasn't resentful like that; she knew he had enjoyed a long marriage to Caroline. Perhaps it was because they had both been at fault in their youth, that she was as much to blame as he had been.

How lucky had he been to be blessed with a second chance with Marilla? He looked at her fondly and gently brushed a lock of hair off her face. She may have been a virgin when they married, but she soon made up for that. She was as keen on lovemaking as any woman. They had had a lot of fun together. Selling his farm gave them a financial freedom neither had enjoyed before. John missed his apple trees, but he didn't miss the hard work it took to tend them. He wasn't getting any younger either, so it was good to spend these years with his new wife, instead of working too hard.

Gilbert had found it difficult to come to terms with John taking a new wife. He and Caroline had been very close. When she died, he had been very upset. Gilbert took a while to come to terms with John and Marilla's new status, but it was a testament to his character that he eventually embraced Marilla as his new stepmother, not just as his mother-in-law. John giggled inwardly at that, the four of them were closer than most couples and their in-laws.

Marilla sighed and rolled over. She must have been more tired than he. He looked at her back and shoulders, her hair cascading down. He was tempted to trace his fingers down the expanse of her back, but he decided to wait, to let her sleep some more. She had worked hard all her life; a farmer's life was never easy. She was due a life of leisure now and if that meant sleeping mid afternoon, so be it. John expected that she might be embarrassed to find herself asleep in the middle of the day; she hated to leave the daily chores undone.

He saw her shoulders shrug and heard a small sob. "What is it darling? What's the matter?"

"I'm just thinking of what I missed when I was young, there were no unforeseen outbursts of ardor when I was in my twenties." She rolled over to face him, tears rolling down her cheeks and nose streaming. "I'm sure you and Caroline enjoyed them, and Anne and Gilbert too. It was just Matthew and my parents for me."

"Yes we did, and I'm sure they did too. But at least we got you there in the end, darling. Sudden bursts of unplanned passion are a delightful way to fill in an afternoon."

"Yes, well they don't help get the chores done though, do they?" Marilla made as if to get up, but John pulled her back down. "Oh no you don't. I'm not done yet. The housework can wait." Marilla sighed, looked at the clothes strewn around the room and nestled back into his arms again.

"I suppose so. It's decadent, but I have to admit it is pleasurable. What were you doing before you were overcome?"

"I was forking hay and I glanced over to you. That's all it took."

She laughed ruefully. "I doubt it, John. There's nothing particularly erotic about this old body."

"Take it from me, there certainly is." He caressed her cheek and kissed her sweet lips.


	23. Chapter 23 Carmody Fair

**Carmody** **Fair**

It was Carmody Fair Day. Marilla and John met Anne and Gilbert and the grandchildren early in the morning. The younger Blythe family arrived from the train station. The elder couple had spent the night in town beforehand. They met up at the entrance to the fair ground. The children were excited to see their grandparents and were eagerly anticipating the day ahead. "What shall we do first, Dad?" Gilbert asked John.

"I think we should ask the children what they'd like to do." Marilla suggested.

The little children were gazing with wonder at the organ at the fairground entrance. It was indeed a thing of beauty. An organ grinder was churning out music on the whirligig, beckoning people to come and visit. The gate was painted with lurid mythical creatures, tipped with gold paint to make them jump out. A fearful Nan edged closer to Marilla, who reached out a hand to caress her hair.

Once inside the fairground their senses were assailed by a cacophony, distant sounds of people screaming in delight, cows mooing, crowds chatting and laughing, music playing, spruikers spruiking and a general hubbub. Then there was the smell; an intriguing mix of horse and cattle dung, cotton candy, pie, sugar, sweat and dust. The Blythes stood inside the entrance for a moment, gathering their wits and taking stock of the entirety of the crowded fairgrounds.

"I want to go on all the rides" Jem announced.

"Me too" agreed Walter.

"You big boys could probably go off on your own for a couple of hours" Gilbert suggested. He gave them some money and let them loose. The twins looked after them forlornly, but they weren't quite old enough to leave their parents. Instead the rest of the family strolled into the showgrounds. "Shall we wander around and see what takes our fancy?" Anne suggested. "What time is the judging?" Marilla had entered her plum puffs in the baking competition, she had been perfecting her recipe for weeks. John didn't think he could eat another one, ever, but he didn't tell Marilla. "11am" replied Marilla promptly.

"Well we have until ten to eleven to do as we please. Any suggestions children?" Anne looked down at the children.

"Look there's a puppet show, Mummy. May we watch it?" Di asked. They wandered over to the booth where a puppet show was in progress. Some complicated, yet ridiculous, plot was unfolding, the children soon picked it up and were roaring with laughter. The adults looked on bemused.

"I think that one is that one's friend, or is it enemy?" Gilbert suggested.

"No Daddy, they're brothers." Shirley explained as if to an idiot. They watched it for a couple of minutes until the show ended with a huge crescendo. All the children laughed and clapped while the adults looked confused.

"I really have no idea what that was about" Marilla whispered to John. He shook his head and shrugged in agreement.

Strolling along they passed the shooting gallery, coconut shy and hoopla stalls. Gilbert and John took one look at each other and nodded. Time for a bit of marksmanship. The gentlemen removed their coats and rolled up their shirt sleeves. The children looked on in wonder as their father and grandfather both took up a gun and proceeded to fire away at static birds. At first it looked as though Gilbert had the upper hand, but then John overtook him. Finally, it was John who was holding a small trophy. "See that's where a life of farming holds you in good stead, boy. You don't get to be a good shot when you're doctoring all day."

"But I get my practice snipe shooting once a year, Dad." Gilbert protested.

"Better do it more often, if you want to beat your old man, son." A pleased John clapped Gilbert on the back. Marilla and Anne looked on in amusement, it was sweet to see their menfolk so happy.

The coconut shy was next. Anne had a go, followed by John. "What about you Mar?"

"I think the hoopla is more my cup of tea, thank you."

"Ahhh" the crowd murmured as John's last shot went true. His prize was a hideous doll.

"I think this is for you, Mar."

"Actually, I'd rather not if you don't mind. Can we give it to Rilla instead?" Rilla looked delighted, this gruesome toy looked very cuddly. John made a mock crestfallen face as this exchange took place. Marilla gave him a kiss on his cheek "Thank you darling, but I think it's Rilla's now."

Di grabbed Gilbert's hand and pulled him towards the 'tip 'em out of bed', a large pool with a man sitting above it. You had to hit a target with a ball and the man would be tipped into the water. "Dad, Dad you have to have a go at this, pleeease."

Gilbert laughed, "Of course darling, so long as I'm not the one being tipped, I'm happy to give it a go." He bought 3 balls and threw them at the target. The first went wide "Just getting used to it" he explained. The second one fell short, but the third one hit the target with a loud thwack! Down into the drink went the hapless fellow with a huge splash.

* * *

The older boys were revelling in their freedom. They had money in their pockets and the entire fairground at their feet. "What first Walt?"

"I reckon we should go on the Scenic Railway, the line doesn't look too long yet."

Jem whistled "I'm game if you are?" They paid their money and waited in the queue for a few minutes. Their carriage was about a third of the way down and they climbed in while the brakeman made sure they were securely fastened. The train chugged up the incline, paused at the top and then rattled down the slope with a whoosh. The boys hung on for dear life, screaming the whole way. "Woooohhhhhooooooo!" The ride only lasted about 10 minutes, but it seemed far longer. They were a bit wobbly when they alighted, but they giggled at each other, buoyed by the adrenalin. Next there was the switchback and an excellently scary ghost train. They were disappointed by the unusual animal tent, it had a zebra which was fun, but other than that it was just a couple of really big dogs.

"How much money have we got left, Jem?"

"Not much. I reckon we need more, I'm hungry."

"D'ya think Dad will give us more?"

Jem shook his head. "I know, let's try Grandpa."

* * *

At competition judgement time, Marilla was modestly confident in her plum puffs. She had of course been baking them for years. She had made a few adjustments lately to make them fluffier and more buttery. Her plum jam had been stewed the previous year, plenty of time for the flavours to develop. She stood with the other finalists in the large hall. She never liked being in the limelight, but she stood there nervously, feeling like the pride of Avonlea rested on her shoulders. Glancing around at her fellow competitors, she was shocked to see Rachel standing nearby, what was she doing there? Marilla hadn't told her she had entered the competition. The MC read out each of their names and the item they had baked. It still gave Marilla a thrill to hear herself referred to as Mrs Blythe after all those years of being Miss Cuthbert. Next the MC called out Rachel's name, Marilla was startled to learn that Rachel had entered the competition too. She could see the family standing in the middle of the crowd, it was nice to have so many people there encouraging her.

The MC announced the third prize winner, "Mrs Crowthers from Carmody who baked a lemon tart." There was polite applause. "Second prize goes to Mrs Marilla Blythe for her plum puffs." Marilla beamed, she had hoped for first place, but second was a very credible alternative. "And first prize, for her delicious apple muffins goes to Mrs Rachel Lynde."

Wait, what? Rachel? First?

Rachel Lynde's muffins beat her plum puffs? Luckily decades of training kicked in and Marilla smiled outwardly despite seething inside. Oh, she'd never hear the end of this. Rachel would gloat 'til the cows came home. Marilla put her hand up to stop John from saying anything, if he offered sympathy, she was liable to burst into tears. How ridiculous to feel so upset about a little baking competition, but her puffs were far and away better than anything Rachel Lynde could bake. She hugged and kissed Rachel, congratulating her on her success.

* * *

Anne determined that it was time for a little break in proceedings. "Rilla looks exhausted Marilla. I think she could do with a nap."

"I wouldn't mind a cup of tea myself." Marilla admitted. "John, shall we?"

They found a small stall with tables and chairs set up outside. John bustled off to order some afternoon tea, while Anne bent down to tell Rilla the plan. "No! I want to stay with you Mummy, I want to see the Fat Lady."

"No darling, you need a nap, then you'll be able to stay much longer. We're just going to leave you here with Aunt Marilla and Grandpa, we'll be back for you shortly."

"But I wanna see the Fat Lady, Aunt Maywilla, I wanna see her-r-r-r-r" Rilla sobbed as she rubbed her eyes with her fists.

"Now, now darling, you're too tired. Just have a little nap with Grandpa and me, then when you're refreshed we can see more sights."

The little girl sobbed on Marilla's shoulder as she rubbed her back. Between one sob and the next Rilla fell asleep. John returned with a tray laden with tea and cakes. "How is she?"

"She was upset, but she's fallen asleep now."

"I'll just drink this quickly and then I'll take over." Marilla nodded, she loved having her littlest granddaughter asleep on her shoulder. John gulped his tea down quickly and stood up to take Rilla and let Marilla have hers. Rilla murmured as he picked her up but settled back to sleep once he had her on his lap. Marilla looked on fondly as she took up her teacup. "What a beautiful picture the two of you make." The threesome sat there for a while longer, even Marilla could feel her eyes closing...

"Looks as though little Rilla wasn't the only one who needed a nap." Marilla woke with a start as Anne remarked on the sight of the three of them sleeping in their deck chairs.

"How was the Fat Lady?" John enquired.

"Very large, I'd be worried about coronary heart disease or diabetes if I were her." Gilbert warned.

Marilla got to her feet while John gently roused Rilla. She turned around and put her hands up for Gilbert to carry her. "Oh, no. You have to walk after your nap, little lady, shall we take a turn on the carousel?" They wandered over to the magnificent ride.

"It reminds me of the one we rode in Central Park, John." Marilla reminisced as the children scrambled on to a horse each. "Look at me Aunt Marilla, I'm flying." Di sat on her horse with her arms outstretched.

They heard the spruiker advertising a show about to commence in the arena and wandered over to sit down and watch. In line with the Island's Scottish heritage, they put on a Highland Games. They marvelled at the caber toss.* Some of the men tossing the cabers weren't even all that large, but they skilfully tossed the massive logs so that they landed on the opposite tip. Some of the cabers fell back towards the tosser, that didn't count, they had to keep the momentum up and fall away. The crowd watched avidly as first one man tried and failed and then the next. It was obviously very difficult. Eventually one man managed it, the caber landing on its tip. The crowd held their breath as they watched the caber teetering and then collectively cheered when it fell the right way.

Jem and Walter ran up to the family, panting. "We've been looking for you all."

The MC called out for participants for the tug o'war. "Well boys, care to join Grandpa and I? The Blythe men went out to the centre of the oval to join the 'war'. They strained and pulled with all their might, even little Shirley went red with the effort. The women were clapping politely. "Oh I wish I could join in" Di sighed.

"Sorry darling, the tug o'war is just for boys. It isn't ladylike." Di grumpily watched her brothers having all the fun. Being a girl was so boring.

The next event was the dog trials. The crowd were amazed by the skill of the sheep dogs as they herded the sheep through gates and around obstacles. All heads turned as they heart a pipe band enter the arena. The stirring pipes and the drum major beating the time. The band was followed by the Grand Parade of the prize winning livestock. The bull was particularly impressive.

When the parade was over, the Blythes left the arena to explore more delights. The Ferris Wheel beckoned and the family made their way over to the base and two by two climbed in. Anne and Shirley, Gilbert and Rilla, the twins, Walter and Jem and lastly Marilla and John. The view from the top was impressive, they could see for miles. No one had ever been so high. "Look, I can see the sea, John." Marilla marvelled, I always forget how close it is.

At the end of the day, they stood saying their goodbyes at the entrance to the train station. Rilla and Shirley were practically asleep on their feet. Marilla and John were staying an extra night in town before making their way back to Green Gables. Gilbert and Anne bundled the children on the train and kissed and hugged their parents goodbye. It was a wonderful day, though Rachel's success at the baking competition rankled.

* I recommend looking caber toss on YouTube, that is one incredible sport.

 _A/N I found a nice recipe online for Marilla's plum puffs. Basically they're choux pastry (like profiteroles and eclairs) filled with plum jam and cream_


	24. Chapter 24 Those Magnificent Men

"Mar, this is really getting exciting now."

"Hmm?"

"Some chap has flown his Aerodrome over the Potomac River."

"That's nice dear."

"Mar! You don't understand."

"I understand I need to mop this floor."

John heaved a big sigh, "Women! No, this is really amazing. He flew his craft 130 feet."

"John Blythe, will you move your feet?."

* * *

John's new interest was technology, specifically aircraft and automobiles. He loved to keep up with the latest advances in the newspapers. He longed to see these marvels himself, but Avonlea was not very progressive in terms of technology. Marilla did not share his interest leading to some frustration on both their parts.

"Mar, listen, last month Samuel Pierpont Langley flew the first unmanned, powered model aircraft. People are doing the most amazing things all around the world. It's incredible."

"If God had meant for man to fly, he would have given us wings."

"Instead, God gave us the ingenuity to work it out without wings of our own, Mar.

She looked at him. "Oh you."

"Remember how disgusting New York City was when we visited last, Marilla?"

"Oh yes." Marilla screwed up her nose at the memory. "New York was quite malodorous"

"And they were talking about the concern that if something weren't done, civilization as we knew it would fall. Too many horses causing all that terrible pollution, not to mention the problem of what to do with the carcasses."*

"Yes?"

"Well now some German company is manufacturing an auto-mobile."

"Auto-mobile, what does that mean?"

"It's a wagon which can move under its own steam, no horse required and as a result it's far cleaner."

"So, no manure blowing around everywhere?"

"No. If these things take off, they will alleviate that problem. Can you imagine it?"

* * *

John was reading the newspaper in the parlour and called out to Marilla and Rachel who were enjoying a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

"Now some German chap has flown up to 30,000 feet in a hydrogen balloon."

Rachel looked askance at Marilla. "He's obsessed with flying machines. And automobiles." Marilla added, after a pause.

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "You know if God…"

"Yes, I know what you're going to say Rachel, Marilla said the same thing. Luckily God gave man the brains to build these devices, so we don't need wings."

The women looked at each other and raised their coffee cups to each other – great minds and all that.

"30,000 feet, that sounds dangerous." Rachel remarked.

"Yes, it was very brave of him."

"Or very foolish."

"These pioneers are pushing the boundaries of travel Rachel, it's wonderful. Maybe in the future, humans will be flying around the world. Just imagine."

"I prefer to keep my feet squarely on the ground, thank you very much." Rachel sniffed, disapprovingly.

"C'mon ladies, where's your sense of adventure?"

* * *

"John! John! Where are you now?" John was nowhere to be seen. "John, it's afternoon tea time. It'll get cold." Oh bother, she'd have to make her way out to the barn and in this weather too. There was a steady sleet falling on this cold afternoon. Marilla wrapped up in her warmest shawl and hat to make the quick but cold journey out to the barn, where she hoped John would be ensconced. Sure enough there he was, tinkering away as usual. "John, I've been calling you. Tea is ready."

"I'll be there in a jiffy, Mar. I just have to get this little bit finished."

"What are you doing there?"

"Just a little project I have going. Nothing to worry about."

"That sounds dubious. Should I be worried?"

"No, it's nothing really, just a bit of fun."

* * *

Shirley was very excited, he had received a letter from his Grandpa. Little boys like him never received letters in the mail, but he was having some problems with the handwriting and he didn't understand some of the words. He took the letter to Susan in the hopes that she would decipher it.

 _"Shirley Blythe_  
 _Ingleside_  
 _Glen St Mary_

 _Dear Shirley_

 _Daddy tells me you and he are interested in flying machines. It's exciting isn't it. All these new advances in technology. I thought I would have a go myself. I think it would be fun to go up ..."_

Susan got no further before she dashed out of the kitchen leaving a mystified Shirley in her wake.

"Mrs Doctor Dear, I have to talk to you."

"What's the matter Susan?"

"It's the Doctor's father, Mr Blythe senior. He sent this letter to Shirley. You have to read it."

Anne scanned the letter, looked up in shock at Susan and ran to find Gilbert.

"Gilbert, your father's gone mad. We have to stop him!" She thrust the letter in his face.

"What? What? What's the matter?" Gilbert stuttered, shocked at Anne's behavior. He read the letter quickly then looked in shock at her. "He can't."

Both of them sat down at once to write a couple of urgent letters.

 _John Blythe  
_ _Green Gables  
_ _Avonlea_

 _Dear Dad,_

 _I read your letter to Shirley. Please tell me you're not actually building a flying machine Dad? They're so incredibly dangerous, you can't be serious? Please stop now Dad. We can't afford to lose you._

 _Your son_

 _Gilbert_

John received two letters in the next mail, one from Gilbert and this one from Anne.

 _Dear John_

 _Please, please, please don't build yourself a flying machine, John. I don't think Marilla could bear it if anything were to happen to you._

 _A warning, I'm writing to Marilla next._

 _All my love_

 _Anne_

* * *

"JOHN BLYTHE!"

Oops, Marilla had received her letter. John knew he was in for it now.

She didn't even stop to find her shawl, she just ran out to the barn through the filthy weather. Hands on hips she raked him with her fierce blue eyes. "John Blythe, of all the ridiculous notions I've ever heard, this takes the cake."

"Steady on Marilla. It's not that bad."

"Show me what you're building."

Down the back of the barn, hidden under some old tarpaulins John had stashed his 'flying machine'. Marilla burst out laughing, "It's a kite."

John looked crestfallen. "Yes, it's a kite."

"So, you're not actually planning on flying in it yourself?"

"What? No! That would be foolhardy. What if I crashed. Is that what everyone thought?"

"You sent a letter to Shirley and mentioned the word 'up'. Susan read it and panicked.

"Oh dear. No, I'm just building this big kite to try out in the spring. I thought Shirley would like to help me fly it. I'm not going to try to fly in it. It's pretty heavy, so we'll need a good windy day to get it up. It's more of an experiment in aerodynamics really."

Walking back to the house he looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Did you all really think I'd be so addlebrained as to try to go up myself?"

"Well you have been obsessed with all these advances in technology John. I thought maybe you'd like to have a go yourself."

"I won't be going up until they find a safe way to come down."

"Oh, that's a relief. I couldn't bear to lose you, my intrepid aviator." She gave him a hug and a kiss as they walked back to the house.

"I think I might have to write to the Glen to explain myself further."

"That might be a good plan. We don't want little Shirley getting any ideas."

* * *

* Chapter 17


	25. Chapter 25 Science of Deduction

**Science of Deduction**

Marilla eased down onto the sofa with a wince. "Are you in pain Mar?"

"Just a twinge in my hip, it's nothing. The price you pay for old age, I guess."

"If you like, I'll give you a massage when we get to bed?"

"You know I always like massages in bed", she replied with a raised eyebrow. "Now how about that new Sherlock Holmes story, what's it called again?"

"The Sign of the Four. Very well, are you comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be."

John read: "Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantle-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morroco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction."*

"Goodness", Marilla exclaimed "Mr Holmes is not the man I thought he was. I never took him for a drug addict."

"Are you too shocked, Mar? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, I'm just surprised is all, read away."

They had taken to reading each other novels by gas lamp. John did more of the night reading, as Marilla found it strained her eyes to read at night. She reciprocated when she read him a chapter over afternoon tea; if the action was particularly exciting and they couldn't wait a whole twenty-four hours for the next instalment.

It was a lovely way to wile away the long winter nights. If John tired of reading, they would discuss the story, comparing the case to previous crimes and speculating on what might happen next; or how the crimes had been committed and how Holmes would solve it. Generally, at the end, Holmes would remind everyone of a previously unimportant detail which everyone had glossed over or forgotten and declare the case solved with a flourish. Marilla and John got quite good at remembering all the tiny details, Conan Doyle put in all the information, it was just a matter of close reading. Marilla enjoyed Holmes' dry wit and intellect, though she did not approve of his drug abuse. What a way to comport himself, it was scandalous.

When the chapter was over, it was time for bed. Marilla winced as she got up. "Hip still bothering you sweetheart?"

"What? Yes, I suppose so." She replied, rubbing it.

"Here let me give you a hand there." He picked her up and carried her up the stairs. Once there she got changed into her nightgown and eased under the covers.

"Are you finding the stairs difficult these days?" John asked as he massaged her hip.

"Yes, a bit, I don't like walking up and down them all day."

"We could look into converting Matthew's room into our own? Might save your hips and knees."

"Mmm."

"I'd need a hand getting all the furniture down, but it's easy enough to manage if you like?"

"You know, that would be very helpful, if you think you could manage it?"

* * *

The next morning Marilla still felt sore. Her hip was very tender, and she had a slight headache. She said as much to John, who decided she needed a day in bed.

"Oh no, that's not necessary."

"I think it is, time to listen to Dr Blythe, I'll have you know my son is a physician." He said with a wink.

Marilla shook her head, pleased really that the decision was taken out of her hands. As decadent as it was, it was lovely to luxuriate in bed for the day. Her hip was quite painful.

John played nursemaid. He bought her up her lunch, then told her he was popping out for a while. Marilla lay back in the bed, read for a while, then had a nap. She came to when John appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"Right it's all settled, Davy will come over tomorrow and we'll move the furniture downstairs."

"So soon? That's no good. I'll have to clean that room first."

"Oh" John was a bit deflated, he had been so excited to help her out. "I'll just put Davy off then." He rushed off again to let Davy know about the change of plans. John bumped into Rachel on the way home. Rachel was a bit preoccupied, not her usual inquisitive self.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Yes, I've misplaced my pendant, you know the diamond one."

"Oh dear, I wonder where it's disappeared to?"

"I have no idea, it's just vanished into thin air as far as I can see. Tell Marilla I was coming to pay a visit, but I fear I'd be a poor guest today."

"Oh, that's all right, she's unwell."

"How so?"

"Her arthritic hip is playing up and she has a bit of a headache. I've ordered to stay in bed for the day."

"Oh, the poor girl. Please send her my love."

"I surely will."

* * *

Back at home, John conveyed Rachel's best wishes to Marilla and told her about the mystery. "How intriguing. Did she say where she last saw it?"

"What, are you going to play Sherlock Holmes and find it?"

"Maybe I could John, we've been reading enough of his stories. I might have picked up a few pointers."

John brought a simple dinner up to Marilla which they ate in bed. He suggested another chapter of the book. "Just to keep our hand in, you know. So you can find Rachel's pendant."

He read: "Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small dainty, well gloved and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither the regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation."*

"He paints a good portrait with his words, doesn't he?" Marilla remarked, "especially for a man."

John nodded and continued to read. Marilla could feel herself nodding off to his words, it was comfortable and warm in the bed, she could feel her eyes closing, but she was determined to listen to hi … … John glanced up, and saw that she was fast asleep. He smiled to himself. Taking note of where they were up to, he closed the book and blew out the candle.

* * *

The next morning the sun shone brightly into the bedroom and Marilla woke feeling much refreshed. Her hip was feeling better after the day's rest. She looked over to see John stirring and reached over to touch him. "Feeling better, love?" He enquired.

"Much better, thanks."

Marilla was able to get downstairs under her own steam. She did like the idea of moving their bed to the ground floor though, those stairs were not her hips' best friends.

After breakfast Marilla paid a visit to Rachel's house. She was determined to solve the mystery if the pendant hadn't turned up already.

"Good morning Rachel."

"Good morning Marilla, I hope you are feeling better, dear."

"Yes, I am thank you. John informs me you have lost your pendant, have you located it yet?"

"No." replied Rachel forlornly, "it seems to have disappeared into thin air."

"Where did you see it last?"

"It was on my dresser."

"Can you show me?"

Rachel led her into her bedroom and pointed out the spot "I had taken it off the chain because I was concerned that it was tarnishing. Once I had studied it intently, I left it here."

Marilla had a good look around, but the pendant was nowhere in sight. "I suppose you've looked behind the dresser?"

"What? Yes, I've looked there."

"Has anything changed in your home circumstances?"

"What? It's just me here."

"You haven't got any new pets living here, have you?"

"Well I did get a new pussy cat. She's such a dear little thing. Her name is Luna, she's black."

"Oh dear."

"What? You don't think she's stolen it do you?"

"Not stolen no, I think she may have eaten it."

"Eaten it? Oh no! Will I ever get it back?"

"I think you will, in a few days or so."

Rachel looked at Marilla in shock and burst out laughing. "Oh no!"

Sure, enough Luna did pass the pendant a few days later. Rachel never really wanted to wear it afterwards. Although Marilla and John assured her that after a good wash it would be fine. Instead Rachel's daughter was delighted to receive a generous Christmas present that year.

Davy and John moved the bed and chest of drawers down to Matthew's room. Marilla left her bedroom of many years with some regret, but she did not miss traipsing up the stairs multiple times a day. Rachel invested in a box to contain her jewellery, hoping to avoid another incident. John and Marilla continued to enjoy the antics of Mr Sherlock Holmes. John had taken to calling Marilla Mrs Holmes, on occasion, which always made her smile.

* _The Sign of the Four_ , Arthur Conan Doyle


	26. Chapter 26 Harvest Time

_I've played around with dates in this AU. The Klondike gold rush occurred between 1896-89 so that's grounded the story although in canon Jem would be around 4, obviously I've made him older._

* * *

 _June 1897_  
 _Dear Anne_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. Millie and the children are in good health._

 _*Several paragraphs omitted*_

 _Anne, the reason I am writing is that we are finding it hard going finding men to help with the harvest, they've all disappeared to find their fortune in the Klondike* I was wondering if you thought Jem might be old enough to help me out? I would look after him and not work him too hard. He could board at Green Gables with Marilla and John._

 _I hope to hear from you soon,_

 _Your brother_

 _Davy_

Anne read the letter and thought it through. She was concerned for Davy and the farm of course, but Jem was young yet. She wasn't sure he was up to the long hours of physical labour. She'd have to discuss the idea with Gilbert first. Jem overheard his parents talking. He could hear Mum saying "Davy ... harvest ... Klondike..." Then her voice became quieter as she moved away from the door. That sounded interesting. Jem had heard of the Klondike, the near mythical river up in the Yukon where gold had been discovered the year prior, even in sleepy Glen St Mary men were disappearing, off to seek their fortune. Still it was hard to believe Davy could be off too.

Jem could barely sleep for excitement, something was up, he just wasn't sure what. He finally dropped off and dreamt about mountains of gold in the snowy wastes. The following day his parents called him into the parlour.

"Jem, your Uncle Davy wrote to ask us if you could help him with the harvest at Green Gables. All the able-bodied men have gone off to the gold rush and he needs help. Your Dad and I have thought about, but we want to know what you think? It would be a great deal of hard work, and of course you'd miss out on a few weeks with your friends. On the other hand, we think it would be good for you and it's wonderful that we can help Davy out at this time. What do you think?"

"I, um, wow." Jem was lost for words, it wasn't a gold rush, but it sounded exciting nonetheless. He was sure it would be tough, but he was nearly a man now and he was pleased that his family recognised that. "Where would I stay?"

"At Green Gables." Jem had always adored his grandparents, so this was the icing on the cake, so to speak.

Jem packed his bags and was placed on the train to Bright River. He had travelled by train plenty of times, but never on his own. He couldn't help but feel nervous and excited. The train was full of all sorts of people and he hoped he didn't look too young. A woman on the other side of the carriage saw him sitting there, somewhat nervously; a young lad on the cusp of adulthood, his red hair glinting in the sunlight.

* * *

At the station, Davy enveloped Jem's hand in his mighty fist. I'll take you to Marilla and John's first and you can get settled in before work tomorrow morning. I'm really delighted you could help out Jem. It's too big a job for one man, but all the labourers have disappeared. I guess the lure of gold up there on the Yukon was too attractive."

They reached Green Gables soon enough, the familiar farmhouse nestled in amongst the trees. It was like a second home to Jem. His grandparents were on the veranda as the buggy pulled in. Jem noticed that they looked older and a bit smaller, was that a walking stick that Aunt Marilla was leaning on? Marilla and John greeted their eldest grandson with glad hugs and pulled him into the parlour as Davy waved goodbye with a happy smile. "So, tell us all the news? How are your parents?"

Jem filled them in on all the latest gossip, Rilla had lost a tooth, she had been most insistent that he tell them. Di and Nan were well, Walter and Shirley were growing. Sharing the news made Jem realise how much he would miss them, but he was here for an adventure and to help out like a man; it wouldn't do to cry. Marilla could just see the glimmer of a tear in his eye, so she bustled off to fetch some afternoon tea. She had prepared a spread of raspberry tarts, her famous plum puffs and an apple cake. Of course, she always had some treats in the pantry, but she knew Jem would be ravenous after work this month, so she had laid in extra supplies. Jem looked much brighter when she returned with a fully laden tray. "Will you have coffee now, Jem, or would you prefer milk?"

"Just milk please Aunt Marilla."

* * *

Marilla was shaking him awake in the dark. "Wha, what is it?"

"It's time to get up, Jem. Time to go to work."

Jem was well used to lavish breakfasts, but Marilla knew a simple Glen St Mary breakfast wouldn't sustain him for the long day ahead. On his plate were piled eggs, bacon, black pudding, toast, bean, sausage and cooked spinach. "Gosh Aunt Marilla, is all this for me?"

"Yes. Eat up then Grandpa will take you out to Davy."

Davy was waiting for him by the barn. Dawn's first rays were peeking over the horizon as the men walked out to the field.

* * *

Jem staggered in the door absolutely exhausted. Covered with dirt he sank down on the kitchen bench with a groan. Marilla walked over. "I know you're tired Jem, but you have to clean up outside. Dusty boots on the veranda, please, and the water butt is out there for a quick wash." Jem looked up at her with dismay in his eyes. Although she felt sorry for him, Marilla was resolute. All workmen followed her rules. With a sigh Jem rose to his feet to do as she bid. "I'll have some tea ready for you when you're finished." She reached up and ruffled his red hair as he walked past.

"I'm sorry Aunt Marilla, I'm too tired to eat, may I go to bed?"

"Yes, that's fine. I'll pop in soon with some liniment. That will help with the stiffness tomorrow. Supper will be ready in an hour."

Jem nodded as he made his way to bed, slightly dismayed at that moment that was all the way up the stairs. Since he had visited last, Marilla and John had swapped bedrooms so that they were now sleeping in Matthew's room on the ground floor to save Marilla's hips. He understood why as he achingly walked up them himself, every step feeling like a mountain. Collapsing on the bed, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Marilla crept in shortly after to find him lying on top of the covers fully clothed, sound asleep.

John came in from the barn. "Where's Jem?"

"Fast asleep. I don't expect he's ever had such a hard day's work."

"He'll need some liniment before the morning, shall I do it? He might prefer it if a man sees him."

Tears came to Marilla's eyes. She and Jem had always shared a special bond, but John was right. Jem was no longer a small boy and he might be embarrassed to have his grandmother apply it. Silently she handed the liniment over. John patted her on the shoulder and gave her a kiss on her cheek. "You can slather me with liniment whenever you like, Mar." She smiled back at him through her tears.

The next morning Marilla couldn't rouse him. She walked out to the barn to meet Davy at the start of the work day. "No Jem?" He enquired.

"I think he may have overdone it yesterday, he's slept for fourteen hours."

"Sorry Marilla. He worked really hard. I kept trying to make him slow down."

"I'll send him over after morning tea." Davy nodded. He could recall the time he started helping out. Youthful enthusiasm didn't last much past the first day. The harvest was arduous work, it was best to pace yourself.

When Jem did wake he momentarily forgot where he was. When he moved his muscles ached, it all came flooding back. It was very light in the room and he panicked knowing he had missed some hours of work. What would Davy think of him? He struggled to his feet, amazed to see he was wearing his nightshirt. He didn't remember putting it on last night. Hurriedly he got dressed in his work clothes. He washed his face and noticed that his face was bright pink with sunburn.

Sheepishly he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Marilla was waiting for him. "Sleep well darling?"

"Yes, seems I slept in, is Davy angry?"

"Not at all. We'll get you fed and you can go and find him when you're ready. Are you in pain this morning?"

"I'm in agony, Aunt Marilla. I didn't even know I possessed these muscles, now they're really sore."

Marilla smiled at him. It was always somewhat a baptism of fire when a town boy came to do some real work in the country. "That will only last a couple of days, Jem. Then your blisters will settle down and your sunburn too."

* * *

 _August 1897  
Dear Anne_

 _Your darling Jem arrived safely and is happily settled in. He had a bit of a rough beginning as he proved to be somewhat too enthusiastic on his first day at work and slept for sixteen hours straight. He was a bit sore the next day, poor lad. We covered him in liniment and gave him a bath to aid his recovery. He started a little later on his second day. Davy reminded him that the harvest doesn't need to be finished in one day, and he is working more calmly now._

 _It is such a pleasure having a young boy about the place again, though he's quite different to Davy at that age. We have had some lovely chats about school. I always knew your children were close to the Meredith children, but it seems they are more enmeshed than I knew. He mentions Faith Meredith quite frequently. Do you think anything will come of that?_

 _Much love from John and myself,  
Marilla_

 _*.*.*_

 _August 1897_

 _Dear Mum_

 _Well I've been here a few days now and I thought you might like to hear how I'm faring. As you might imagine I received a warm welcome from Aunt Marilla and Grandpa. Davy was pleased to see me too. He wasn't kidding when he said there were no labourers around, I see lots of young boys like me helping out in the fields._

 _I started work the day after I arrived, and I think I overdid it. I was in agony, Mum. But don't worry, I'm feeling much better now, and my blisters have almost disappeared. I think they were all pretty worried about me, but I've learnt to pace myself now._

 _Aunt Diana has invited me over for lunch on Sunday. It'll be good to catch up with her children. I'll send your love too, of course._

 _I remain  
Your son  
Jem_

 _*.*.*_

 _August 1897  
_ _Hey Walt,_

 _I bet you're missing me. What's happening over there in Rainbow Valley? I'm sure you've stepped up as the oldest brother. I hope everyone's having an enjoyable time. I'm missing you all, but I'm having a great time here. I think I've got muscles on my muscles now._

 _Look after yourself Walt and keep an eye on all the girls for me._

 _Your big brother  
Jem_

 _*.*.*_

 _September 1897_  
 _Dear Son_

 _I do hope you are well. I hear from Marilla that you are working hard and proving to be a great help to Davy. I am so proud of you son. Marilla says she is enjoying your company. The two of you have always had a lovely bond, Jem. It's wonderful that you are able to build upon that._

 _Everyone is well here and sends their love. Your brother** and sisters are all well and as brown as berries after traipsing around the Glen all vacation. As you can imagine they are spending a great deal of time with the Merediths._

 _Susan says she hopes you are keeping well. She was shocked to hear about your first day there and was about to rush over to bring you home. We knew you would be all right after a day or two and persuaded her to leave you be._

 _Aunt Diana wrote to say how lovely it was to catch up with you. This will likely embarrass you, but she thinks you are growing up into a fine young man._

 _Your time at Green Gables is coming to a close. Aunt Marilla invited us to the Harvest Picnic. We will all attend and take you home afterwards._

 _With love as always  
Mum_

* * *

John looked approvingly at his grandson over dinner the night before the Harvest Picnic. He remembered the skinny pale boy who arrived a month earlier. Now before him sat a strapping lad. He would never go brown like his brothers, his red hair put paid to that, Jem was either pale white or bright red, never anything in between; but his shoulders had grown, John thought and he could see some fluff on Jem's upper lip. Jem was chatting with his grandmother, they were discussing the harvest and Marilla was complimenting him on all his hard work. Davy had reported that Jem had been a great help. He was a good worker who never shirked his responsibilities.

Just before lunchtime Jem and John drove over to the train station to pick up the family. Millie and Marilla had prepared a massive lunch for everyone to share. It had been decided that as the weather was still warm, and the crowd large; they would picnic on the Green Gables lawn. Blankets were laid out and platters of food were strewn on tables set up around the garden. The grandchildren flew off the carriage and into the arms of their beloved grandparents who hugged and kissed them back. Over the top of Nan's head Anne bent over to give Marilla a kiss. Gilbert shook hands with his father and then with Davy. "Thanks for lending me your son, Gilbert. He's been very useful."

After lunch the children ran off to play and to catch Jem up on all the Rainbow Valley news; leaving the adults to sit and chat. Millie went into the kitchen to fetch them all some coffee. Marilla had laid her head in John's lap under the shade of a tree, while Anne and Gilbert sat on blankets nearby.

"Will you miss him?" Anne asked her mother.

"Who, Jem? Yes, I'll miss having a boy around. It's been lovely having him to stay. I feel I've really gotten to know him well. Do you think he's changed since you saw him last?"

"I do." Anne asserted. "He looks older, more mature. He's holding himself like a young man, rather than a boy."

As they packed to go the next day. Davy wandered over to give Jem his wages. "Oh no, that's not necessary, Davy. This was a family effort." Anne tried to stop him.

"No, he's worked hard. I was always going to have to pay someone. You deserve this Jem." Jem sheepishly took the money, feeling happy and yet somewhat guilty about it.

"I hope you'll come back to help me next year, Jem. I've enjoyed your company."

Marilla, and the Keiths waved good bye to the Blythes as John drove off towards the station. Jem had mixed emotions about leaving, but he was looking forward to his reunion with Faith Meredith.

* * *

* The Klondike was the site of a Canadian gold rush in the Yukon. Gold was discovered in 1896.  
* Is there more than one brother, I forget?


	27. Chapter 27 Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made

**A reminder on Mother's Day of all days, that motherhood is not always easily come by.**

 **Warning** , this chapter contains descriptions of infertility, miscarriage and stillbirth. It explains why Gilbert was an only child with elderly parents. I have always wondered why that was the case? Something rather catastrophic must have occurred.

This scene happens quite early in their relationship.

Thank you to **kslchen** for the prompt.

* * *

 **Such Stuff as Dreams are Made On***

One Autumn afternoon John and Marilla were taking their afternoon tea on the veranda, making the most of a last warm day. Marilla poured a cup and handed it over to John. "I got a letter from Gilbert today." He told her.

How are they all?

"They're all well as you probably know, Anne is a better letter writer than my Gilbert, daughters are better at keeping in touch."

"Yes, you should have had one", Marilla remarked flippantly.

There was no response. Marilla glanced over at John and was dismayed to see him sitting there shoulders heaving, his cup untouched and tears spilling down his cheeks.

"My darling, what did I say?"

"It's ridiculous after all this time. I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be silly, what have I said? I didn't mean to cause this much anguish."

"It's just you know, we tried so hard to have a baby, but they wouldn't stick. It wasn't easy for Caroline to conceive you know? We'd try and try and the trying was fun at first of course, but the blood would come month after month. She'd be in tears whenever she saw it. The doctor said there was nothing wrong, but still there would be the blood each month."

Marilla was silent, she knew that blood, but there was never possibility in her case that it might be stopped. She hadn't thought about it before, but she suspected Caroline's pain might have been worse than hers, unfulfilled anticipation every month.

"She grew distant. She said afterwards that she felt so ashamed. A good wife should be able to conceive, she thought. When that proved impossible she felt she was broken. Of course, I didn't share her misgivings, we were in it together. It takes two to make a baby.

We'd see our friends having them with such ease. Rachel of course and others with perhaps less fecundity. Nevertheless we'd smile at their news, and I would hold her as she sobbed at home. And of course it happened so often. Poor Caroline." Marilla squeezed his hand. "She did eventually conceive and the transformation was unbelievable. I recall she came out to me at the breakfast table and told me she was late. I was so stupid, I didn't know what she was on about at first and she had to explain it to me; that her menses usually so regular, hadn't turned up. Oh Mar, you can't imagine our relief. She was so so very happy. She transformed overnight. They talk of the glow of a pregnant woman, you know? Caroline glowed from that moment on." John himself was practically glowing at the memory of that happy time.

"That must have been wonderful to experience", Marilla replied. She knew a little of their life, but only at a remove.

"And then I lost her again." John added. "She miscarried the baby a couple of weeks later." His shoulders slumped as he recounted it. "I can still hear her screaming in agony, not just from the stabbing pains, but from the anguish of the heartbreak. I held her as we watched the little life ebb away."

"Oh." Marilla had no words. She of course had never experienced that.

"I think Rachel announced that she was in the family way yet again, shortly after. Caroline wasn't able to pretend, to even try to put on a happy face that time. I'm sure Rachel was offended as I hurried Caroline away. I don't blame her of course. It was too much to bear. Rachel seemed to have them with such ease."

"Yes she told me once that Thomas just had to look at her and she'd fall pregnant."

"Oh?"

"Yes and I told her he could've shut his eyes once in a while." John smiled wanly.

"So we stopped trying after that, there didn't seem any point. We would make love if we felt like it, but the spark had gone. We were just two people sharing the same house. It was so difficult for her in particular, I wanted children desperately, but I didn't feel broken as she did. Even seeing children about the place was difficult, she'd be imagining our baby's first steps or their first tooth or words or whatever without any chance at experiencing that herself." He glanced up at Marilla. "I suppose you felt the same way, now that I think about it?"

Marilla smiled at him as tears sprung to her eyes. "I did, but this is your story."

"Anyway" he continued "an amazing thing did happen one day. The blood didn't come and her belly started to swell. We were on tenterhooks, as you can imagine. I wanted to put her on full bedrest, and the doctor said it would be for the best. We hired a nurse to come and care for her and the house. She was incredibly bored and frustrated for eight months, but we watched in wonder as her belly swelled. Eventually after the requisite number of months, she went into labour. Have you ever experienced that Mar?"

"I've been around Anne a couple of times, yes. It's an intense time."

"Well you can only imagine the intensity at our place that long long night." Marilla nodded and wiped a tear from her eyes.

"I fetched the doctor when her pains started. The nurse said she could handle it at first, but I wanted him there. This was too precious a baby to risk. Together the four of us helped Gilbert into the world, squalling. And he was so very perfect, Mar. Downy black hair even then, ten little fingers and ten little toes. To say we were smitten doesn't cover it. We just looked at him and at each other and giggled in amazement."

"Where did you get the name Gilbert from?"

"Oh, that? Yes well Caroline's favourite uncle was called Gilbert. She always loved the name and who was I to comment when she had been through so much. I remember the doctor placed him in my arms and I marveled that such a small slip of a thing could be so marvellously alive. Caroline had her arms held out and I handed him over and watched as she put him to her breast. The doctor was still fiddling about down below, something about afterbirth, but I couldn't take that in. All I could hear was the sound of my son snuffling and snorting as he looked for her nipple. The smile she gave me as she finally realised she wasn't broken was something I think I'll never forget."

Marilla didn't want to interrupt his delightful memory.

"After that success we tried again, we knew we could do it. Of course we had less energy by then, we were older, and Gilbert kept us busy, but we had a few goes. She did get pregnant again you know?"

Marilla knew this story, but she let him tell it, so she just nodded.

"We'd relaxed by then, the pressure was off. Gilbert was about two, such a sweet little lad he was too. Always getting into mischief, but gorgeous with it. We had made love a month or two prior when Caroline broke the news to me again, no blood. Another baby, it seemed like another miracle. We tended to her carefully again, I tried to keep the work to a minimum, but it wasn't easy as she had to tend to an energetic Gilbert too. The baby grew and grew within. One of my favourite things to do on an evening was lay down with my hand resting gently on her belly feeling the baby kick. You've probably witnessed that with Rachel or Anne?"

Marilla nodded, that was such a special time, as though you were communicating with an unearthly presence.

"All was going smoothly, she went into labour again and the doctor was called. But this time there was no squalling when the baby was born. She slithered out all white and still. Completely perfect apart from the fact that she never took her first breath. We named her Grace and buried her the next day.

We gave up after that. Neither of us could stand to risk any further heartbreak. Queen Anne's Lace** took up residence on Caroline's bedside table and we poured our love into Gilbert, at least we had one little gorgeous boy.

Marilla came over to John's side and held him as he wept. The strain of years past evident on his lined face. She reflected that marrying your sweetheart did not shield you from pain. She took John's hand and led him into the bed. He would need a sleep after pouring his heart out to her, she lay down next to him and pulled him in for a comforting hug, all the while he sobbed. Eventually his sobs slowed down and he lay there in her arms, as she murmured gentle words of comfort. He felt lighter, as though a massive weight had lifted. John looked at his wise wife and closed his eyes, he really was quite exhausted. She felt his breathing slow and steady as he dropped off to sleep. Poor Caroline and John, she was pleased he had told her though, it made her realise she did not have the sole experience of suffering.

* * *

* William Shakespeare, The Tempest

** Queen Anne's Lace was an early contraceptive, thanks to **kslchen** for the tip.


	28. Chapter 28 The Cat's Whiskers

Thanks to **OriginalMcFishie** for the prompt. I had loads of fun writing this one.

 **The Cat's Whiskers**

Rilla woke up in fright in the middle of the night. There were scary shadows on the walls and a strange scraping sound outside. Too afraid to make a noise, Rilla dove under her bedclothes and lay there shaking. She had the strongest feeling that she wasn't alone, so she peeked out from under her blankets and saw an elderly man sitting on the end of her bed. He had long iron gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders and a full gray beard. His blue eyes twinkled at her. He had a shimmer about him and was deathly white, but he had a lovely comforting smile.

"Who, who are you?" Rilla stammered.

The man put his finger to his lips asking her to be quiet. "I'm your uncle Matthew. Marilla's brother.

"But you're dead. Mummy told me."

"Yes, but I'm keeping an eye on you all from heaven. I saw you had a nightmare and I thought I could comfort you."

"Oh? Are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine thank you. It's Rilla isn't it?"

"Yeth."

"Named after my sister."

"Yeth. Berfa Mawilla"

"Oh yes, also named after your grandmother."

"I never met her."

"I didn't meet her on earth either. She died a very long time ago."

"Did she love Mummy?"

"Oh yes she loved her terribly. It hurt more than anything to leave your Mummy when she was still so young."

"How do I know you're really Uncle Maffhew?"

"I can tell you a story about your Aunt Marilla if you like?"

"Yes pwease." Rilla was delighted. The others would be so envious.

Matthew looked down at his beautiful little brown-haired granddaughter all snuggled up in bed, her long eyelashes blinking steadily up at him. "Very well, lie down and get all comfy and I'll tell you about the time Marilla cut off the cat's whiskers."

"Oh!"

"Yes, it was a wicked thing to do, but she was very young, younger than you even. She said afterwards that she thought the whiskers were too long and they needed to be trimmed."

Rilla's eyes grew wide with astonishment, Marilla had been a naughty little girl once.

"Did they ever grow back?"

"It took a while, but poor Misty's whiskers did grow back. Marilla never touched them again. One afternoon when she was just a little girl, your Aunt Marilla crept out to the barn with our mother's sewing scissors." He told the story as Rilla looked on in amazement. They had lots of cats around the place and she had never thought to do this to any of them. Fancy Aunt Marilla ever being this wicked? As Matthew wound up the story he said "Now you go to sleep again, but give my darling Anne a big hug from me in the morning, all right?" Rilla nodded, half asleep already.

* * *

"Mummy, Mummy." Rilla ran into Anne's bedroom the next morning and launched herself into her arms.

"What is it? What's the matter?"

"I have to give you a big big hug."

"That's lovely darling, thank you."

"Oh its not from me, it's from Maffhew."

"Matthew? Matthew who?"

"Maffhew, Aunt Mawilla's bruvver."

Anne sat up straight at that. "You dreamt about Matthew last night?"

"No Mummy it wasn't a dweam, I met him. He was lovely. He told me ever such a funny storwy."

"Did he now? What did he look like?"

"He had long gway hair and a beard and ever such fwiendly eyes. But it was funny, if I looked hard I could see the picture on my wall behind him."

"Oh" said Anne faintly. "What else did he tell you?"

"He told me he wuves you, and to give you a big big hug when I woke up. So here I am."

"Goodness! Did he say anything else?"

"He told me a storwy about when Aunt Mawilla was a wittle girl."

"Did he now? What story was that?"

"About the time Aunt Mawilla cut the cat's whiskers off."

"She did?"

"Yeth, don't you remember it Mummy?"

"No, I didn't know Marilla back then. It was before I was born. Can you tell me the story?"

Rilla recounted the story in great detail to her increasingly mystified mother. When she was finished she sat up and said "I'm going to get bweakfatht now."

Anne watched her run off, completely shocked by the detailed and involved story. Had young Marilla really done what Rilla said? Time to write a letter.

* * *

Marilla was peeling apples for that night's pie when John arrived back from town. He had picked up the mail and handed the letters over to her. Marilla wiped her hands on her apron and looked them over. One from Anne, that was nice. It was always lovely to catch up with the goings on at Ingleside. Anne could be relied upon to write a good letter. "I have to finish off this pie, then I'll read the letter."

"Do you want some coffee or tea?" John enquired.

"Hmm, tea I think. Thank you."

Marilla finished off the pie and left it to rest. Then, sitting down with the tea in front of her, she opened Anne's letter. They had gotten into the habit of reading her letters out loud. There was seldom anything private in them and if there was, Anne would write it on a separate piece of paper. Mostly her letters were full of the grandchildren's news, today was no different.

 _Dearest and best of Marillas_

 _We have a little mystery which occurred last night. Rilla had an odd dream. As she tells it, she woke up in the middle of the night with a nightmare. She says Matthew was sitting on the end of her bed. I was as incredulous as you will be, but she was adamant that it was he. He was rather pale, and she could almost see right through him. He told her a story about something you got up to as a child. Did you ever cut the whiskers off your cat Misty's face?_

Marilla stopped still. John looked up, "Well did you?"

She stared at him looking rather pale and whispered, "Yes."

"Oh, golly. Does anyone living know?"

"I don't think so. I hadn't met Rachel yet."

"That's a terrible thing to do Marilla."

"Yes, I know. I was only four at the time. I'd forgotten all about it until this very moment."

* * *

She had crept out early one afternoon, her Mama's sewing scissors in her pocket. She was wearing her dress and her big outdoor boots. She found Misty the fluffy grey cat in the barn. He was half pet and half mouser. He had beautifully long grey whiskers, but she had always thought they looked too lengthy.

Placing the scissors next to her, she held out a little piece of cake she had brought to lure the cat to her lap and when he came sniffing, she reached out and hugged him to her chest tightly. Misty squirmed, but he was caught in her small but strong arms. It was tricky to manage, but she took up the scissors and neatly trimmed the whiskers off one side of his face. Misty took objection to the affront to his person and squirmed out of her arms. Raking her across the wrist with the claws of one paw he scampered off, though he couldn't run straight. She watched in dismay as he ran off.

Marilla looked at her wrist, blood was beading up from the scratches. For the first time she was realizing that maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Holding her bleeding arm to her chest she made her way back to the house in tears. She banged the door shut after she got inside and found her Mama mopping the floor.

"What have you done Marilla?"

"Mama, it hurts, it hurts."

"Let me see, ooh that looks painful. How did you get it?"

Marilla just looked at her, tears in her eyes. She felt this day hadn't gone as she planned and she expected she might be in trouble. "I cut Misty's whiskers and he scratched me."

"Marilla!" Her Mama's voice had a warning tone. "You didn't really cut the cat's whiskers, did you? That's a very naughty thing to do. Cats need their whiskers."

Marilla stared down at her feet, feeling very guilty.

"What did you use to cut them?"

In a very small voice, so low Constance could hardly hear her, Marilla whispered "Your sewing scissors."

"My sewing scissors? Where are they now?"

"In, in, in the barnnn." Marilla was truly crying now. She was in terrible trouble and her arm hurt. "Matthew." Constance called out the door "Fetch your father. I need him here."

David appeared at the back door soon after. "What's the problem?"

"Marilla has gotten herself into a spot of bother."

David hurried in and took in the sight of his daughter with blood running down her arm. "Oh, my goodness, what happened here? What did you do darling?"

"It was Misty, he scratched me."

"Misty? The cat? Why did he scratch you?"

Marilla mumbled.

"What was that?" David looked up at Constance.

"She cut the cat's whiskers and he scratched her."

"Marilla! You didn't? You mustn't cut the cat's whiskers darling, that's very wicked. Wait, how did you cut them?"

"She used my sewing scissors." Constance replied grimly. "We better get you cleaned up and then we'll have a little chat about your behaviour little lady."

"I'll go and check the cat." David announced.

David came back carrying a confused Misty. He placed him down on the ground and they watched in dismay as he walked around in circles.

Marilla got a good talking to that morning. It was a day that was indelibly marked in her memory. She was so distraught that she never told another living being outside her family.

* * *

"So what happened?" John enquired.

"I crept out one afternoon and snipped the whiskers off one side of the cat's face with Mama's sewing scissors. The cat retaliated and I ended up with a long scratch on my arm. She rolled her dress sleeve back. The scar look very faint all these years later, but she could just make it out.

"But how could little Rilla know anything about it?" John enquired.

"I have no idea. That's the bit that doesn't make any sense."

 _Dearest Anne,_

 _Rilla is right. One day when I was about four I did cut the whiskers off our cat, Misty. I don't understand how she could know?_

* * *

A/N No animals were hurt in the writing of this story.


	29. Chapter 29 Birthday Letters

John went to town to pick up the mail. Amongst the pile he received a parcel addressed to himself which also bore in a child's hand the words " _Do NOT open in front of Aunt Marilla_." Curious, he sat on the buggy and opened the parcel. Inside there was a letter which said:

 _Dear Dad,_

 _As it will soon be Marilla's birthday, the children have written letters to their grandmother which we would like her to receive on that day. They are in effect, her birthday present. You told me you were taking her to the White Sands Hotel to celebrate. You will find there is a nice surprise waiting for you there, with our love._

 _I remain  
_ _Your son_

 _Gilbert Blythe_

Within the parcel, John could see a selection of letters, all addressed to Marilla. His heart swelled in anticipation. She was going to love this.

* * *

They packed their bags, locked up the house and set off to the White Sands Hotel. They had stayed there on a couple of occasions, but not for some time now. Marilla tucked her arm into John's, and they rode along companionably, enjoying the fall weather and the beautiful turning leaves. Marilla had spent many years ignoring her birthday, it served merely as a reminder of the passing of the years as she grew from young to middle aged. Now, however John made a point of acknowledging her birthday every year, always planning some small surprise or other. She never knew what to expect and she found herself eagerly anticipating it. The hotel was a particular favourite of hers, so she was looking forward to a weekend of spoiling.

The next morning, as they woke up in their four-poster bed, there was a knock at the door and a man entered carrying a large tray mounted high with breakfast treats. He set it down on a table set for two and after placing the plates thereon, backed out leaving the couple to their own devices. "Oh John, this is too much. I could have gotten up." Marilla said, delighted that she hadn't had to.

"No, my queen, in fact this is Anne and Gilbert's birthday present. They wrote and told me they had something set up for you. Now, eggs?" he said with a wink.

Later, as they lay in their disheveled bed, Marilla resting on John's bare chest, he told her there was another surprise.

"Oh really, what now?"

John rummaged around in his bag and pulled out the parcel he had received the other day. "For you."

"Goodness, what can this be?" she wondered. She peered inside the package and found a series of letters all addressed to her. "Oh."

She removed the first one from its envelop and found it was a letter from little Rilla. Her letters were not very well formed yet, and so her letter was not very long. "Read them to me." John requested. He wanted to hear what they all had to say too.

"Well this is a picture from Rilla, see." Marilla turned it around so that John could see a sweet picture of the family in front of their house. Gilbert and Anne looked like giants in comparison with the other stick figures. The house had four windows and a door and there was smoke coming from the chimney. The roof was coloured red, and she had not quite kept the colour within the lines. On top of the picture were the words _HaPy BirfDaY AnT MaliRa_ and lots of love hearts, and _LuV RiLla_

"Gorgeous" murmured John.

"Yes, isn't she sweet" smiled Marilla.

"And there's this one," Marilla pulled out the next letter and opened it. "It's from Gilbert! He says:"

 _Dear Marilla_

 _I'm sitting in the kitchen with the children who are all composing birthday letters to their dearest grandmother. The light is soft and the room warm. I can hear the scratching of their pens as they write, but otherwise they are silent. In fact, as quiet as I have ever known them to be. Nan and Di are writing furiously without pause, but the boys are writing and stopping to think and then writing a bit more. Sometimes one pauses to ask me, or Susan, how to spell something, but otherwise the concentration is intense._

 _I thought now might be a good chance to thank you and Matthew for sending for that boy all those years ago, and when he did not materialize, for keeping the girl who came instead. For if you had not, this scene would not be possible. These children would not exist, and I would be married, perhaps unhappily to the wrong woman. How sad that would be?_

 _This exercise was, in fact Jem's idea. He thought you might like a letter from each of your grandchildren. As Rilla is not yet literate, she is drawing you a picture. She was a little dismayed at the idea of writing because she felt she could not manage it, but Walter suggested a drawing instead and she is happily coloring in the roof right now._

 _It makes my heart swell to see them all hard at work. They were delighted with Jem's notion, for of course they love you so. Myself, I am amazed by how nurturing a grandmother you are, considering. I do hope you and Dad come visit again soon, we would love to see you both._

 _The work of bringing in new life and helping patients leave this life for the next, and everything in between, continues as usual. Sometimes I get frustrated at the limited tools at my disposal and I wonder what new medical advances will be discovered in the next century? Perhaps typhoid, diphtheria, sepsis, smallpox, or malaria will not be so deadly as they are today. Wouldn't that be wonderful? For now, though, I wield my limited box of tricks and made do as best I can._

 _I remain,  
_ _Your devoted  
_ _Stepson and Son-in-Law  
_ _Gilbert_

"He's a sweet man, your son and an excellent father." Marilla commented after reading the letter.

"He is at that. Who's next?"

Marilla poked her hand in once again and pulled out another letter. She scanned it quickly and said, "this one's from Nan."

 _Dear Aunt Marilla_

 _It is fall here, is it the same in Avonlea? I think this is a beautiful time of year. You are so lucky to have your birthday now._

 _I wrote a poem about the falling leaves for you_

 _Golden, crisp leaves falling softly from almost bare trees,  
_ _Lifting and falling in a hushed gentle breeze,  
_ _Slowly dropping to the soft cushioned ground,  
_ _Whispering and rustling a soothing sound._

 _We are spending most of our time down in Rainbow Valley with the Merediths as usual. They met a girl in Mr Taylor's old barn. Her name is Mary Vance. She used to live with Mrs Wiley over the harbor, but she was real mean so Mary ran away. She's had all sorts of illnesses, even pewmonia once, which she said she doesn't 'member being as she was so sick and all._

 _I hope you have a wonderful birthday at White Sands, Aunt Marilla. It sounds so grand there, I would like to go one day._

 _I am  
_ _Your loving granddaughter  
_ _Nan Blythe_

"That was a lovely poem. I wonder who this girl is?"

"Yes, she sounds rather odd. Remind you of anyone?" John raised his eyebrow.

"Indeed." Marilla took out another letter and scanned it. "the next one is from dear Jem." Marilla sighed, "I guess it's wrong of me, but I have to admit, he is my favourite.

 _Dearest Aunt Marilla_

 _I hope you like our birthday present. The others thought it was a good idea. We're all sitting around the kitchen table writing, even Dad._

 _Did we ever tell you the story of how Walter rode a pig through town? He did it on a dare from Faith Meredith. I really like that Faith Meredith Aunt Marilla, she's got spunk. Anyway, the pigs belonged to Bertie Shakespeare Drew's father, but they've been hanging around the Manse for a couple of weeks. Faith and Walter caught them and jumped on. The pigs tore down the hill and through the village. I can still see Faith bent double with laughter and poor Walter crimson with shame._

 _Walt and Faith jumped off the pigs just as they were about to run into Mr Drew's back yard, and Mum and Dad drove by just at that moment. I laughed fit to bust when I heard about it. I can just picture them, can't you?_

 _I hope you have a wonderful birthday at White Sands, Aunt Marilla._

 _Please send my love to Grandpa,  
_ _I remain your ever-loving Grandson,  
_ _Jem Blythe_

"Anne told me about that incident actually. I think some people in town were somewhat mortified, but she just reminded me that she hadn't had the opportunity to have much fun when she was their age, so she can't get too upset about their antics. Walter wrote this next one."

 _Dearest Aunt Marilla_

 _I don't know if anyone told you about the time I rode the pig through town? I suppose it was very naughty of me, but Faith Meredith dared me, and I had to do it. Has anyone ever dared you to do something silly? You just have to do what they say. Mum says she was dared to do something dangerous once, and she felt honor bound to do it. This was the same._

 _Anyway, I don't know what Faith was thinking, but she saw those pigs around all the time and on a whim, she told me later, she dared me to ride one. She rode the other one, but she seemed to enjoy it, whilst I was doing it for honor, and honor alone._

 _It was really hard to stick on, Aunt Marilla. For of course we didn't have saddles. I don't know if you know this, but their gait is pretty bumpy. Sure, it wasn't too high if we fell off, but they were going at a fair lick. Anyway, I gripped on to my pig's flank with my thighs as hard as I could and managed to stay on for a fair while. It was only when the pigs turned the last corner for home that we came unstuck. I had hoped that no one would recognize me, but Mum and Dad witnessed the last bit. Still, we aren't in any trouble. Dad looked a bit thunderous, but Mum just smiled and kissed me. I just hope the pigs are all right._

 _I hope you have a happy birthday, Aunt Marilla_

 _I remain,  
_ _Your affectionate grandson  
_ _Walter Blythe_

How interesting to hear about the pig riding from his point of view, Marilla looked at John whose sides were heaving with laughter. "It's not funny."

"It is. Those children! Gilbert would have done just the same at that age. I'm glad I'm not their parent, I can just enjoy their antics from afar."

Marilla smiled at him and grinned "I guess it is rather amusing."

"I can just picture him on that piggy, looking miserable." John giggled some more at the thought as he casually caressed Marilla. "Who's next?"

"Only two to go. Di or Shirley?"

"Leave my Shirley to last, let's have Di next."

"Yes, if Jem is my favourite, Shirley's definitely yours."

"Mm-hm." John agreed.

 _Dearest Aunt Marilla_

 _Aunt Mary Maria continues to stay with us. I know it's awful wicked to say this about our aunt, but I feel I can confide in you, I don't like her. There, I've said it. I suppose I'll get into awful trouble if you tell Mum and Dad, but I don't care. She is always telling Mum how to run the house and picking on us for the clothes we wear and our behaviour. I just know she drives Susan crazy, Aunt Marilla. She is always criticizing Susan's cooking or cleaning. I think she means to stay forever. I wish she would just leave._

"I know she's your cousin, John, but she really is a pill."

John nodded. "I agree, she's always been like that."

 _I suppose you don't want to hear all that though, Aunt Marilla._ _I have made a new friend, Jenny Penny, who I met at school. She is a little older than me. She invited me to stay the night at her house, but I don't think Mum will let me._

 _I hope you have a very happy birthday, Aunt Marilla,_

 _I remain your ever-loving granddaughter,  
_ _Diana Blythe_

"And lucky last, Shirley."

 _Dear Aunt Marilla,_

 _You and Grandpa are just about my favourite people in the world. I love getting letters from Grandpa, I wonder how his flying machine is going?_

 _We are all well here. Susan sends her love._

 _Please send all my love to Grandpa too, tell him I want to go sledding again, though we need some snow first, of course._

 _Happy Birthday Aunt Marilla,  
Love  
Shirley Blythe_

* * *

"Well, they were a lovely surprise. I'll have to send each of them a letter back, especially Jem for thinking of it in the first place."

"Yes, I agree. A lovely surprise."

"When did they arrive?"

"Earlier this week. But I had strict instructions not to give them to you until your birthday."

"Did you know the contents?"

"No, I had no idea." He bent down to kiss her and murmured "Happy Birthday, my darling" in her ear. She snuggled into his chest some more, enjoying the silky feeling of his chest against her bare back.

"Shall we have a bath? I can get the maid to draw it."

"Ordinarily, I would say no, but you know what? That sounds delicious, though we might have to comport ourselves with a bit more decorum than we do at home, no sloshing now." Marilla warned him.

John pouted a bit and said "That's the only drawback of bathing here. Still I _guess_ I can behave."

Marilla smiled at him, "Cheeky."

"That's why you love me." He grinned and leant in for another birthday kiss and time stopped.

* * *

A/N I've mixed up the timelines rather here. Some of these things happen later than others, particularly the pig incident, but it was too good a story to leave out.

Of all the letters, Shirley's was the most difficult to write. There's practically nothing in canon about him, except that he's _brown_. Having given him a difficult birth and a girl's name LMM forgot about him.


	30. Chapter 30 Memory is All We Have

**So apparently this is the story you write when you're not writing Fanfic. Shhh pretend I'm not here. (Which isn't to say reviews are unwelcome).**

* * *

"ARRGGGHHH!" Marilla screamed and scrambled out of her bed. She had never. Never! Had a man in her bed and having one now, uninvited, was an unwelcome sight.

John was woken by her scream and sat up asking what the matter was? He rolled over to light the gas lamp.

Marilla looked at him wildly, finally recognizing her intruder. "John Blythe! Just what are you doing in my bed?"

"Mar, it's just me, it's just me."

"Yes, it's you, but why are you here in my bed, in your pajamas of all things? What gives you the right?"

"Mar...?"

"And why are you calling me Mar? You haven't called me that for years."

"I'll sleep somewhere else."

"Do! Leave. Go home."

John was worried. Marilla had hit her head that afternoon. She had been in the barn with him and had forgotten to duck as she walked through a low space. Cracking her head on the lintel she had been knocked unconscious for a brief moment. They had called for the doctor who said she should just rest, it looked fine. But now Marilla didn't recognise him as her husband, was she suffering from amnesia? The last thing he wanted to do was upset her, so he left and went to make up a bed in another part of the house. His problem was that it was the middle of the night and he didn't have another home to go to.

Marilla felt very vulnerable. She had just woken up with, if not a strange, certainly an unwelcome man in her bed. What had happened? Why on earth had he been there, he hadn't done anything had he? She felt herself all over, she didn't feel any different. He hadn't molested her in her sleep then, thankfully. Was he still in the house? She hadn't heard the front door? "John" she called out.

"Yes."

"Why are you still here? You must go home." Maybe he was addled in the mind. She had heard of that happening, elderly people sometimes went astray. Somehow, he had turned up in her house. He must have wandered around in his pajamas. Poor man, now that she thought about it, he wasn't much older than her, that was a worrying thought.

"Can I stay down here 'til morning?"

"I suppose so, I don't want you to catch your death out there at night. But stay away from me."

"Very well." John agreed.

John slept fitfully, he was worried about Marilla. When he awoke early in the morning he found his coat and boots and put them over his pajamas and made his way to Rachel's house. He knocked on the door, startling Rachel. "John? My stars, what brings you here so early and dressed so strangely, are those your pajamas?"

"They are. It's Marilla, she's confused, doesn't seem to know that we are married."

"Goodness, you better come in."

"May I ring for the doctor?" John enquired.

"Yes, I think you had better."

* * *

Marilla woke slightly later than usual, not surprising given her broken slumber. She walked out dazed to the hall, not noticing where her bedroom was located. In shock at the night's occurrence Marilla called Anne who replied "Good morning Marilla, how lovely to hear from you."

"Anne, something terrible happened."

"Oh no, what? Are you all right?"

"Anne, John Blythe was in my bed when I woke up in the night."

Anne laughed, "Well that's not so unusual surely. It would be newsworthy if he weren't surely."

"I beg your pardon?"

Sensing a change in the mood, Anne faltered. "I mean, John's usually in your bed these days, isn't he?" Anne was perplexed, to the best of her knowledge Marilla and John enjoyed a physical marriage.

"Is this some kind of a joke? It's not funny."

Anne made her excuses and went to see Gilbert. "Gil, I'm worried. Marilla told me just now that she woke up with John in her bed as though it was an affront.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Of course, she knew who he was, but not why he was there."

"That's a bit odd. Maybe Rachel knows something?"

Anne phoned Rachel and asked if she knew anything about it. John overheard Rachel speaking. "Yes, I do Anne, Marilla seems to have forgotten their marriage. John is very distressed as you might imagine. What? He's here with me. Yes of course you can speak to him." She handed the receiver over to John, who gently took it out of her hands.

"Good morning Anne."

"John, this sounds like a concern."

"Yes, she woke up in the night, screamed and sent me out of the room. It was obvious something was amiss, and I obeyed her immediately. The problem was that she wanted me to go home, and of course I was home. I'm not sure what to do now. Rachel rang for the doctor, we're just waiting for him now."

"Did she hit her head or something?"

"She did, she knocked it in the barn yesterday. We had the doctor out then too because she was unconscious momentarily, but he determined that Marilla was fine. Then this happened. Anne, I'm worried. What if, what if . . . " John couldn't finish the question, but it was obvious, what if she never recovered?

"One thing at a time John." Anne placated him. "She is quite distressed. Do you I think I should come?"

"I think that would be for the best."

"I admit I was confused when Marilla phoned this morning. She told me you were in the bed with her, and I said that I'd be surprised if you weren't. She took it as an affront and said it was a poor joke." Anne explained.

* * *

There was a knock at the Green Gables door and Marilla let Rachel in. "Rachel dear, I had the strangest night."

"Did you? What happened?" Rachel feigned ignorance.

"I woke up in the middle of the night to find John Blythe in his pajamas in my bed of all things?"

"Goodness." Said Rachel faintly. "What did you do?"

"I think I may have screamed, it was a terrible shock. Then I threw him out. Although I hadn't the heart to send him out of the house at that time of the night, so as far as I know he slept downstairs. He seems to have left now."

"Goodness, that is very rum."

"Rum? I could have him arrested. I could have sent for the constable, but I figured his mind must be addled. You'll be pleased to know I don't think he _touched_ me."

"That must be a relief." Rachel was attempting to placate Marilla in her torrent, but truth be told she was worried. "Are you well now?"

"I'm fine, but it was very upsetting."

* * *

Rachel and John met Doctor Mustard at the Green Gables gate. "What seems to be the problem?"

John described the situation.

"Hmm, you know there is a popular theory that if a blow to the head causes amnesia, or memory loss, a corresponding blow to the other side of the head will remedy it.* I admit I'm dubious. I'll examine her again. Mrs Lynde you may accompany me. Mr Blythe I think it's best if you stay away."

Somewhat reluctantly John did as Doctor Mustard bid. He was desperately worried about Marilla, but she wouldn't understand why for the time being, so it was best he kept out of her sight, as trying as it was.

Doctor Mustard knocked on the door and was admitted by a confused Marilla. "Why are you here Doctor? Did Rachel tell you about my disturbed night? I can assure you that nothing happened. Do you need to examine me? Do you think he may have molested me? Do you need to examine me _down there_?" Marilla was gabbling in her distress.

"Now, now. It's nothing like that. Tell me, what year is it?"

"What a strange question? It's . . . " she named the year four years earlier. The doctor glanced up at Rachel.

"What's the matter, why did you ask me? Why are you looking at Rachel pointedly now? What is happening, I demand to know." Marilla was getting increasingly distraught and quite strident in her queries.

"I need to talk to you." He sat down next to her on the couch and took her hand in his. "Yesterday, you suffered a blow to the head."

"What are you talking about? No, I didn't. I'm fine."

"I'm afraid you did. Er, someone has told me about it."

"Who?"

"Well I won't get into that now." He glanced across at Rachel who was sitting in the armchair. she took over.

"Yes, dear. You hit your head and you were knocked unconscious for a minute or two."

"I have no memory of that!"

"Yes, we know. Nevertheless . . ."

"You asked me what year it is. What is the year then?"

Rachel told her.

"Oh, my stars. What have, have I, what have I forgotten? What have I missed? What happened to me in those years? Is everyone well? Has Anne had any more children? Has anyone died? Tell me Rachel, you must tell me." Marilla asked feverishly.

"Anne is just fine, Marilla. No more babies. No significant deaths. It's just . . ."

"What? What has happened?"

"Well" Rachel glanced at the doctor, who nodded. "Well, the fact of the matter is, you got married."

"MARRIED?" Marilla almost yelled. "I got married? To whom, may I ask? Who could I know who I could m . . ." She stopped, was completely still and then whispered, "To John Blythe?" Rachel nodded. "Oh, my stars, John Blythe! But isn't he already married, that's bigamy? He could go to jail? Oh, my Lord." Marilla felt sick.

"No, no dear. Caroline Blythe died of a heart attack a few years ago. He's no bigamist."

"Oh dear, did she? Poor girl. It may seem strange given our history, but I always did like her. John and Gilbert must have been distraught."

"They were. You are a good Christian woman to think of them." Rachel smiled at her.

"So, what now, Doctor? What do I do? Will I get my memories back?" Marilla looked up at him her eyes brimming over with tears.

"The brain is a mysterious organ, Mrs Blythe." Marilla startled at the use of the name, "Perhaps in time some, or all of your memories will return."

"Perhaps? That's all you can offer me?"

"I'm afraid so." He replied gently.

"How do you feel about John living here with you, Marilla?" Rachel enquired "He sold his farm, this is his home now."

Marilla looked at her in some shock "Oh! Well now. Well I, I, I don't know? I don't know?" She become quite flustered and panic-stricken at the thought. Seeing her distress, Rachel offered a temporary solution "John is welcome to stay with me for a couple of days. Just so you can get your head around the situation."

"Thank you, Rachel. Perhaps that will help, God Willing."

It was a sad John who packed his bags that afternoon. He fervently prayed it would only be for a short while and told Marilla so. She just nodded and replied that she needed some time. Anne arrived on the train later that afternoon and Marilla welcomed her into the house with a warm hug. "It's all so confusing Anne. I don't know what to think."

"You don't remember anything from the last few years then? What is your last memory?"

"It was wash day and . . . nothing particularly interesting happened, I had chicken stew for dinner" Marilla said reflectively "and then I think the sunset was rather beautiful." She laughed, "that's your influence you know, my noticing that." Anne smiled at her and took her hand. "It's funny, it was an unremarkable day for me. Not one I would remember, except it happened yesterday, not four years ago." Marilla commented.

"How do you feel? Is your head still achy?"

"It is a bit, now that you ask. Though of course I don't recall the trauma that made it so."

"Would you like to go and lie down? I'll look after dinner."

Marilla looked at her gratefully. "Thank you, that would be nice. It has been a strange day." She made her way up to the room she had slept in for fifty years, forgetting that they had moved the bed to the ground floor. "Anne?" she called down in a panic, "where is my bed?" Now she felt like a stranger in her own home.

Anne rushed to her side and held her as she sobbed. "It's all right, it's all right. You moved it down to Matthew's old room, to save your arthritic hips. Shush, shush." She rubbed Marilla's back comfortingly, thinking that she seemed thinner than ever. "Come now, I'll take you down there. You'll see. John made it quite cosy." Marilla allowed herself to be led downstairs and looked in amazement at her brother's old room. It did look nice. Someone had placed her samplers on the walls and it was papered with a nice print. Anne led her over to the bed and drew back the covers. "Now I want to you lie down for a while. I'll bring you in some tea." Marilla settled into the bed, at least it still felt familiar.

* * *

Anne and Marilla spent the next few days discussing the situation. Anne filled her in on the news of the last few years. Marilla couldn't help it, she kept asking the same questions about her relationship with John. Anne answered as patiently as she was able. They went for walks, Avonlea looked much as it ever did. A few familiar trees had fallen, and younger ones had grown taller during Marilla's forgotten years, but otherwise the place looked pretty much the same. Davy and Dora popped by looking older than Marilla remembered. That gave her pause, it was easy enough to pretend this was all a bad dream, except Dora had a few grey hairs now and Davy's beard had grown longer, their children were older and more mature than she remembered as well, which was quite disconcerting.

John came to call one afternoon. He stood in the parlour looking around at the place, remembering all the wonderful times they had enjoyed together. Anne was in the kitchen setting out the afternoon tea on a tray. Marilla stood in the parlour with him, desperately wishing Anne would come and join them. It was very uncomfortable. She tried to make small talk with him, something she had never had the knack for. "How are you keeping, John?"

"Not so bad." This was a lie. He was miserable without her.

"Are you comfortable at Rachel's?"

"It's fine." Another lie, it was unbearable.

To their relief Anne arrived with a heavily laden tray, which John took from her and placed on the coffee table. "Shall I be mother?" Anne asked, and she set about pouring out the tea and placing cakes on plates as the older couple sat quietly looking at her.

After some quiet chatter, John enquired "Marilla, do you think you could permit me to move back in?" Marilla looked at Anne. She didn't know the protocol in these situations. Neither did Anne.

"What do you think, Marilla?" Anne enquired, to help out. "I'm sure John will be the perfect gentleman."

John nodded. "Certainly, I won't do a thing unless you ask me to."

Marilla was unsure, but she hoped it would be all right. She could probably live under the same roof with him. He was quite sweet, she supposed. She nodded quickly which Anne took as agreement. "It's settled then." Anne stated. "John, you will move back in and sleep upstairs, yes?"

* * *

John found Marilla washing her hair over the kitchen sink; a towel over her shoulders to protect her chemise. He stood for a moment transfixed, she looked so beautiful in the morning sunlight. Her smiling face displayed her enjoyment as the warm water traced through her hair and down her weathered cheeks. John knocked quietly on the door jamb to warn her of his approach. Marilla looked up in shock and drew her towel closer. "May I?" John gestured at the jug.

Marilla nodded, "Have you done this previously?"

"Yes, it used to be my job, um you know, before. One of my favorites." Marilla bent over the sink while he rubbed soap through her hair and worked it into a lather. It felt quite odd to have his strong hands in her hair, massaging her scalp.

For his part it was like old times, there was something very familiar about the feeling of the slick soap on her head, sluicing it out with warm water. He had to stop sooner than he wanted, he found it as erotic as ever, but she was not ready for that sort of intimacy.

They danced around each other all day; avoiding each other as much as possible. John felt the need to give her as much space as she required, but at night he asked; "Mar, may I sleep next to you? I promise I won't touch you if you don't want me to." Marilla nodded her agreement. He left her to it for a moment understanding that she needed her privacy.

Marilla was petrified, feeling very self-conscious, she changed into her nightgown quickly and lay under the covers. Shortly afterwards John joined her wearing his pajamas.

They lay in bed together next to each other, but not touching. Marilla lay ramrod straight, feeling very uncomfortable. "John?"

"Yes."

"Is this . . . Is this . . . difficult for you?"

"It is."

"How so?"

"Marilla, I loved you when we were young. We parted, and I always wondered about you. Then we reunited, and I have been passionately in love with you for the last four years. To be separated from you is agonizing."

"Were we intimate?"

"We were."

"You stopped suddenly when you washed my hair the other day. Why was that?"

"I can't tell you right now, maybe one day."

"John."

"Yes."

"May I hold your hand?"

He moved his right hand towards her and she moved her left. Once they found each other under the covers, she grasped his hand and he lightly held hers. It only lasted a moment, before she drew back suddenly, but it was a start as far as he was concerned, and tears came to his eyes.

"Was, was, that all right?"

With a sob John nodded and muttered "Yes" when he realised she couldn't see in the gloom.

"What's the matter? Didn't you like it?"

"It was wonderful. I want more. But only when you're ready, Mar. Take your time."

"You really do love me?"

"I'm besotted. You are everything to me. This is killing me."

"Did you walk away from the washing because. . . Because you wanted to make love to me?"

"Uh huh."

"Did we do that often?"

"Bath-time was our special time. Have you seen the bath?"

"You know, I have. I did wonder why it was so large. Do we use it together?"

"We do."

"Goodness. What's it like?"

"When you're completely ready I'll show you, not before."

"Tell me about our life?"

So, he told her about their brief courtship, his proposal, their wedding day. Telling her he'd show her the wedding dress on the morrow. He told her about their honeymoon, the tricks they'd played on Anne and Gilbert. Their Christmases with the grandchildren; trips to New York City; reading novels together by the fire in the evenings. Even how angry he had made her on occasion. It all came spilling out, their conversations about their past, the realizations they had both come to about the nature of separation and reconciliation.

She lay there in the gloom listening to him telling her about her life. None of it was familiar. She had lost some of the best years of her life it would seem. "It sounds lovely. I wonder if I will regain any of those memories?" she said finally, with a sob.

"If not, we will just have to make some new ones my darling."

She reached out her hand and clutched his once again. He clutched back.

"I'm sorry John. I don't know how I feel about you right now."

"It's fine, Marilla, we can take it slowly. I'm not giving up."

"You'll be gentle?"

"So very gentle."

"Can we . . . Can we, hug? Would that be acceptable?"

John moved his arm and she leant into his side. She could hear him breathing, could hear his heart beating _lub dub - lub dub_ , his chest hair tickled her nose. He smelt of soap and the open air and something else, something indefinable, perhaps the essence of himself. It was intoxicating. Marilla felt so safe and comfortable lying in his strong arms, as though her heart knew the space even if her head did not.

John felt her initially tense body relax against his, then noticed her breathing slow as she fell asleep. He smiled, breathed her in and closed his eyes.

Marilla woke in the night, still lying against him. She tensed in shock, but as he didn't move, she lay back, feeling very safe and loved. This sleeping together lark wasn't too bad after all.

* * *

Marilla went to see Rachel the next morning, for advice, tea and some hand holding. "Come in, come in. How are you feeling dear?"

"Well I don't know, Rachel. It's a queer business." Rachel laid out the tea things and they sat down.

"Is he treating you well?"

"He's being a perfect gentleman." She took a sip of tea. "Last night we slept next to each other."

"Oh." Rachel raised her eyebrows.

"Nothing like that, we just lay next to each other. He smells nice." Marilla clapped her hands to her mouth, she hadn't meant to say that out loud. "And he told me a little about our life together. It sounds quite agreeable actually. Have I been happy?"

Rachel looked at her best friend. "You have been incredibly blissful since you met him again. He has transformed you, and you him. It's just a pity it took you both so long to get there."

Marilla smiled at her. "John says if I never get those memories back, we will just have to make new ones. That doesn't sound so terrible, I guess."

"No, it doesn't, does it. You could have some more fun together."

Marilla smiled at the thought and sipped her tea. If she had to lose her memories, at least she had the support of some good friends to get her through the next while. It wasn't all bad, in fact it might be a blessing.

* * *

* A common treatment at the time. Sounds like a cartoon remedy.


	31. Chapter 31 The Elephant's Children

The Elephant's Children

They were sitting in the parlour each with a child in their lap, John was reading out loud:

"'Aha!' said Painted Jaguar. 'Now I know you're Tortoise. You thought I wouldn't! Now I will.' Painted Jaguar darted out his paddy-paw just as Stickly-Prickly curled himself up, and of course Jaguar's paddy-paw was just filled with prickles. Worse than that, he knocked Stickly-Prickly away and away into the woods and the bushes, where it was too dark to find him. Then he put his paddy-paw into his mouth, and of course the prickles hurt him worse than ever. As soon as he could speak he said, 'Now I know he isn't Tortoise at all. But'—and then he scratched his head with his un-prickly paw—'how do I know that this other is Tortoise?'

'But I _am_ Tortoise,' said Slow-and-Solid. 'Your mother was quite right. She said that you were to scoop me out of my shell with your paw. Begin.'

'You didn't say she said that a minute ago,' said Painted Jaguar, sucking the prickles out of his paddy-paw. 'You said she said something quite different.'

'Well, suppose you say that I said that she said something quite different, I don't see that it makes any difference; because if she said what you said I said she said, it's just the same as if I said what she said she said. On the other hand, if you think she said that you were to uncoil me with a scoop, instead of pawing me into drops with a shell, I can't help that, can I?'"*

Matty Keith squirmed in Marilla's lap and looked up at her with a perplexed grin. She smiled back at him. "Just say that last bit again, slowly please." She asked John who had Matty's twin, Tommy in his lap.

"'Well, suppose you say that I said that she said something quite different, I don't see that it makes any difference; because if she said what you said I said she said, it's just the same as if I said what she said she said. On the other hand, if you think she said that you were to uncoil me with a scoop, instead of pawing me into drops with a shell, I can't help that, can I?'" John repeated slowly, letting the words sink in.

Davy and Millie Keith had twin boys, Matthew and Thomas. They were as wild a pair as anyone could imagine. Which surprised no one given their father's behaviour at the same age. But where Davy had been alone in his antics, as his well-behaved sister watched from afar; Matty and Tommy egged each other on. Davy and Millie were at their wit's end trying to tame them. To give them a break Marilla and John had them over to Green Gables once a week. It was exhausting, someone always had to have an eye on them, they had a real talent for mischief. About the only thing that stilled them was a good story book. Kipling's _Just So Stories_ fit the bill. John read it to them in the afternoon after the boys had run around the farm for a few hours.

Another favourite was _The Sing Song of Old Man Kangaroo_ "He ran through the desert; he ran through the mountains; he ran through the salt-pans; he ran through the reed-beds; he ran through the blue gums; he ran through the spinifex; he ran till his front legs ached.

He had to!

Still ran Dingo—Yellow-Dog Dingo—always hungry, grinning like a rat-trap, never getting nearer, never getting farther,—ran after Kangaroo.

He had to!"**

That story always had the boys up and jumping like kangaroos. Marilla watched them bouncing, marveling at the exuberant, inexhaustible energy of small boys.

This afternoon they had started off making mud pies behind the barn, but just as John took his eyes off them for a moment, they had run off down to the field to chase the cows and hang onto their tails for a good ride. John had run after them as fast as his old bones could manage, mostly to save the cow, but also mindful that a well placed kick could really hurt the boys. He had rounded them up, with promises of plum puffs and marched them back to the house. Marilla washed them down to the tune of many complaints and served the promised puffs. Tommy had clamoured for a story and they all sat down in the parlour to listen to John read the most beloved story, using different voices for all the characters which he did so well.

"'Son, son!' said Mother Jaguar ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, 'a Hedgehog is a Hedgehog, and can't be anything but a Hedgehog; and a Tortoise is a Tortoise, and can never be anything else.'

'But it isn't a Hedgehog, and it isn't a Tortoise. It's a little bit of both, and I don't know its proper name.'

'Nonsense!' said Mother Jaguar. 'Everything has its proper name. I should call it "Armadillo" till I found out the real one. And I should leave it alone.'

So Painted Jaguar did as he was told, especially about leaving them alone; but the curious thing is that from that day to this, O Best Beloved, no one on the banks of the turbid Amazon has ever called Stickly-Prickly and Slow-Solid anything except Armadillo. There are Hedgehogs and Tortoises in other places, of course (there are some in my garden); but the real old and clever kind, with their scales lying lippety-lappety one over the other, like pine-cone scales, that lived on the banks of the turbid Amazon in the High and Far-Off Days, are always called Armadillos, because they were so clever.

So _that's_ all right, Best Beloved. Do you see?"*

Once John had finished the boys clamoured for another tale, but Marilla told them that was enough, with the sharp tone that they knew brooked no dispute. They played marbles until their appreciative father arrived to take them home.

* * *

 _27 December_

 _I never thought I'd be sledding again at my age. It was such wonderful fun. We all bundled up. Gilbert, king of sons in law bringing up the rear with the horse laden with blankets, hot drinks and spare mittens. Everyone pulling sleds. We made a merry and lively party. Jem went first, carving new tracks through virgin snow. John hugged my shoulders and murmured that it was a special experience that he enjoyed when he was young. He urged me to have a go too. I suppose it was ridiculous at my age, but I threw caution to the winds, sat down on a sled and pushed off._

Marilla stopped reading for a moment and fleetingly recalled the sensation of flying down the snowy hill, ice crystals coating her eyelashes. The memory lasted less than a second, but she blinked to rid her eyes of the remembered ice.

She sat stunned. It had been several weeks since she had lost her memory of the previous four years and this was the first recollection she had gotten back. She sat still trying desperately to dredge more up, but to no avail. Still it was a start.

"John!" She called out, "John."

He came running at her call. "What is it, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's the matter, I just had a brief memory is all." She beamed up at him.

"Mar." He bent to kiss her brow. They had been getting more intimate recently. She allowed him to kiss her, something he took full advantage of. "That's wonderful darling, what was it?"

"I just had the most fleeting sensation of sledding down a hill."

John laughed, "Oh goodness, that was a day and a half. I got you flying down that hill like nobody's business, though we paid for it later."

"How so?"

"You were ill the next day. You caught some virus, according to Gilbert, and slept for the next week."

"Why were we there?"

"We went across for Christmas. I played Father Christmas for the children."

"Sounds lovely."

"Keep reading, I'm sure you recorded it."

Marilla read on, marvelling at the experiences she had no memory of. Thank goodness for her diary, her whole life was recorded there.

* * *

Davy walked in at afternoon tea time a few days later and sat down with a groan.

"Oh, what's what had happened now, Davy?"

"Tommy only stomped on all the eggs and Matty chased the rooster to death," he replied with a moan. The look on his face and the remembrance of his wild days at the same age made Marilla laugh. When he looked up in shock, she had to sit down she was laughing so hard.

"Oh Davy, the time I had with you when you were young. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Davy looked at her ruefully and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I guess so."

"I know so." She replied.

"It's coming back to bite me now, how will we cope?"

"You just have to go along for the ride, Davy," she said, patting his hand. "Just try to stop them from killing anyone else along the way."

"And they never stop asking questions." Davy complained.

"So, you mean they're full of satiable curtiosity" she said. Davy looked at her askance,

"The Elephant's Child, by Rudyard Kipling, they love it."

"Can we … ?"

"Oh, no, it's a grandparent's special. You'll have to find your own methods." She replied with a laugh and she poured him another cup of tea.

* * *

* _The Beginning of the Armadillo_ Rudyard Kipling, _Just So Stories_  
**Sing Song of Old Man Kangaroo Rudyard Kipling, _Just So Stories_

A/N One of my most treasured memories of childhood is listening to my father read Just So Stories to me, many years later they made my daughter laugh too.


	32. Chapter 32 Intrepid Explorers

**Intrepid Explorers**

"Oh" Marilla's saliva glands reacted to the words she was reading.

John looked up from his book. What's that?

"I was just reading about the time we had spitched eels. It brought the taste back to my mouth. Did I like it?"

"Not particularly, I'm the fan."

"And yet my mouth is watering."

Occasionally when Marilla read through her diary tiny moments triggered fleeting memories. They didn't amount to much and she could never link them into a solid image. It was more a selection of random moments. John was gently helping Marilla when she was unsure of anything, and their relationship was getting back to where it had been before her amnesia had asserted itself. It was a quiet but happy time.

For his part John was reading the newspaper. "That's interesting."

"Hmm?"

"Someone else is attempting to navigate the North West Passage."

"What does that mean?"

"Well remember how Sir John Franklin was lost trying to find it way back in '45?

"Not really, it was a bit before my time."

"Really? I was fascinated. I followed the news even then and I've always wondered what happened to them?"

Marilla set her diary down and looked up, "Tell me about it then, if it's so fascinating?"

"Well two of the most technologically advanced ships of the day, HMS Terror and HMS Erebus set sail from England under the command of Captain Franklin* with the idea of finally finding the Passage."

"What's that?"

"Really? You don't know? Where have you been all this time? And you call yourself a proud Canadian."

Marilla gave him a stern look.

"Oh well, all right, I'll explain it to you. The North West Passage is a sought after shipping channel through the ice north of Canada. If it exists it would open up seafaring to the east, shaving months off the trip. As it is, currently the journey takes the ships around Cape Horn which is a perilous journey. Many lives have been lost and it takes months. Or they sail in the other direction and sail past the Cape of Good Hope in Africa. Still takes months. The idea and fervent hope is that if a ship can navigate the Passage during summer months, lives and money could be saved. It was first suggested way back in the 1500s, but no one has ever found it."

"What happened to Erebus and Terror?"

"No one knows, they were never seen again."

"Goodness! And now?"

"Well the news is that some Norwegian chap is attempting to navigate it, Amundsen is his name.** I wonder how he'll fare?"

* * *

The phone rang just as John finished talking. Marilla walked out to answer it. "Anne, how lovely to hear from you. Yes. Oh. I suppose so. I'll be there tomorrow."

Marilla hung up and said to John. "Anne says that Susan has to leave them for a few days. Her cousin is unwell. Anne's asked me to come and help out while she's away."

"Does she need me too?"

"Why, have you got something else on?'

"Not really. I just thought maybe you two ladies would like some time together."

"John?"

"Oh, it's nothing, I just have a wee task I'm doing out in the barn that I don't want to leave just now. How about you go now and I come in a couple of days?"

"Very well, I hate to leave you here though, are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. I'll be coming along shortly after. You have a couple of days with Anne and I'll be there before you even notice my absence."

Marilla walked to the bedroom. John sat on the bed as she packed her bag. "Have I got everything?" she looked at him, "I feel like I've forgotten something."

"Me, you've forgotten me. That's all." He replied with a smile. Marilla bent down to kiss him. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"It's just a couple of days. I'll be fine and then we'll have a lovely reunion." He kissed her and and whispered in her ear. "A really lovely reunion."

She turned to him and grinned. "Well the children will all be around, it won't be that lovely."

"I can think up a nice surprise." Marilla swatted him for cheek, but she really did like his surprises.

* * *

She was away the next morning. When John returned from the station, the house was silent. He had never spent the night alone at Green Gables. It was strange, empty and oh so quiet. But he had his jobs to do in barn, so he got busy with them, rather than sitting around missing Marilla.

For her part Marilla received a warm welcome when she arrived at Ingleside. "I don't understand, why isn't John with you?"

"I'm not sure I understand it myself. He said he's got some jobs to do at home that he doesn't want to leave for a couple of days. He'll be joining me soon.

Anne and Marilla were busy tending to the children with Susan away. Marilla was startled to see how the children had grown, particularly as she had forgotten the last four years.

Marilla walked into the kitchen and immediately started planning the next few meals. The weather turned shortly after her arrival and a few big fluffy flakes of snow started falling. The next time she looked out the window the snow was coming down thick and fast. Worried about John she tried calling Green Gables, but the line was dead.

"It's a big storm, Marilla. I suspect the lines are down." Gilbert advised. There was a knock on the door, a snow covered Mr Toyne was on the other side. He needed Gilbert urgently because his wife was in labour. With the phones down he had had to come on horseback to fetch assistance. Anne wrapped Gilbert up in his warmest coat and kissed him goodbye.

* * *

Tip-toeing softly downstairs that night, Marilla entered the kitchen to fix herself some warm milk. She sat at the table while the milk warmed on the stove. The house was quiet. Anne and the children were all asleep.

Gilbert was still out, Mrs Toyne was having a long labour it seemed. She wondered how the night was going over there. Ever the conscientious physician Gilbert would stay by the bedside until he was no longer needed.

Marilla sighed breathing in the warm baked in aromas of Susan's cooking. This kitchen smelt different to hers, as every kitchen did, but was no less comforting for all that. She could smell hints of cinnamon, cloves and brown sugar, like a confectioners daydream. Anne had been lucky to secure the services of Susan Baker early in her marriage. Marilla was not sure she would have had any help if she had been married all those years ago.

The milk was boiling, she took it off the stove and poured the steaming white liquid into a mug and set it down to cool a piece, it was too hot for drinking just yet. She pulled her dressing gown around herself and stoked the stove.

She missed John, she hoped the weather would clear soon, so that they could be reunited. Silly really, all those years apart and now she couldn't bear to be away from him for more than a few hours, particularly now as she was just getting reacquainted with him after her accident. She missed his strong arms around her, the smell of his body, she sighed again and took a sip of her milk, burning her tongue as it was still slightly too hot, but deliciously warming. She jumped a little when a hand caressed her shoulder "Can't sleep?" Anne asked.

"Hmm? No, something woke me up. I don't like sleeping alone these days."

Anne smiled and poured some milk out for herself. "I know what you mean, I never sleep very well when Gil is out." Anne looked across the table at Marilla, noticing that her braided hair had gotten greyer and her cheeks a little more weathered. Her bright blue eyes were still as striking as ever though.

"How are you darling Anne?" Marilla enquired, "I don't feel we get much of a chance to talk these days, you're always so busy."

"I'm well, I'm happy. I love seeing my brood growing up. I suppose" she paused, "I suppose I get a little sad sometimes seeing them grow up. Every stage is different of course and I enjoy them for who they are, but even little Rilla is growing up now, she's not a baby anymore. It makes me wistful for the days when they were little. No more babies to watch out for first steps, that sort of thing you know."

Marilla smiled, "Only vicariously, really."

"Oh, yes of course, I'm sorry." Anne reached out to clasp Marilla's hand

"Darling Anne, there is nothing to be sorry about. I am so happy now."

"Enjoying married life then?"

"I am. I really am. I'm only sorry I waited so long. I just hope John will be all right."

"He'll be here as soon as the weather lets him, you know that." Anne said with a smile.

"I know he will, but I worry."

"Yes of course you do. It won't be long, the weather will break."

"God willing" replied Marilla as she drained her cup. "Well I'll get back to bed. She did go to bed, but sleep ignored her and she lay there looking out into the dark willing him to come back to her safely.

* * *

The men came back in dribs and drabs, Gilbert first. Mrs Toyne had been delivered of twin boys after a long and hard labour. Gilbert fell into Anne's arms as dawn's light was just tinting the night sky with reds and purples. The moon set on his journey home, the great white orb growing larger as it descended past the horizon. John took a while longer.

"Aunt Marilla."

She looked down at the small boy tugging her skirt, "Yes Shirley."

"Will Grandpa be alright?"

She bent down to pick him up and said soothingly "Yes of course he will darling. He's just delayed by the snow, is all. He'll be waiting for the thaw so he can some safely to us. I don't want him to take any risks to get here faster, do you see. So we just have to wait. Maybe you could draw him a nice picture while we wait." Shirley nodded happily and went off to find some crayons.

If only it was so easy for Marilla to calm herself.

It was days before John was able to get through. The snow banked up high on the rail line, cutting small communities off from civilisation. John was champing at the bit to get back to Marilla. But he wasn't foolish enough to take any risks either, she wanted his warm body back, not one frozen solid. They hadn't meant to be parted for so long and he missed her. They hadn't been apart since they had met again.

Marilla had no way of knowing when he would get through. The weather had cleared up in Ingleside some days earlier, but there was still no sign of him. Susan had returned in a cloud of welcomes and had resumed work straightaway. There was very little for Marilla to do, except fret. Anne tried, in vain, to comfort her.

The children tried to distract her, but though she tried to engage with them, in truth she found their attempts to mollify her rather annoying. What she wanted was to clean, to bake, her usual ways of dealing with stressful situations. But Susan held domain in the kitchen and with the housework. Marilla believed that any attempt in that quarter would be seen as a slight. It was frustrating.

Anne watched Marilla pacing up and down the parlor. In some distress for the carpet she sighed, put down her pen and walked out to the kitchen.

"Good morning Mrs Dr Dear what can I do for you?" Susan enquired.

"It's Marilla. She's pacing a hole in the carpet. She needs something to occupy her."

"Oh?"

"Yes, can you let her bake or something. She always bakes up a storm when she's anxious."

"I sup-pose so." Said Susan doubtfully, she hated letting other people into her domain

"I know you're not keen Susan, just do it for me, please?" Anne begged.

"Very well Mrs Doctor Dear since it's you."

"Wonderful" Anne graced Susan with a wide smile and went to find Marilla about ten steps away from the last spot she'd seen her.

"Marilla!" Anne spoke firmly "go bake!"

"What? I can't, not here. Now if I were at Green Gables yes, but Susan..."

"Susan is happy, go."

Marilla had fled before the O had left Anne's lips. Desperate to be useful.

* * *

Sitting around the fire that afternoon the children were playing a board game mostly quietly, though there were small whoops when the play went someone's way. There was a knock at the door. Marilla looked up sharply and they waited until Susan ushered in John. "Sorry I'm late, I came as fast as I could."

Marilla sprang up fast, made a small noise and instantly collapsed in relief, her body caving in on itself. The others looked on shocked before Gilbert galvanised them into action. He sprang forward ordering cushions be brought, the children to stand back and Anne to fetch the smelling salts. He and John rearranged Marilla's limbs and placed a cushion under her head. "Has this happened before Dad?"

"She fainted when I proposed."

"Oh really? I bet that wasn't the reaction you expected."

"No indeed. She was terribly embarrassed when she came to."

"Well I would imagine so."

"Yes because I'd loosened her stays while she was out."

"Oh dear", Gilbert couldn't help grinning at the thought.

Anne rushed back with the smelling salts, "She's exhausted John, she hasn't slept for a week."

"Wha? Where? Why am I laying on the floor?" Marilla asked as she came to.

"You fainted sweetheart. I seem to have that effect on you." John said as he caressed her.

Marilla struggled to get up, but Gilbert shook his head. "Stay there for a bit, Marilla. I want to check you're all right."

She lay back frustrated until it was deemed safe to let her back up and even then it was done slowly. While they waited, John recounted his journey telling them about the deep drifting snow, the train being stranded and finishing with his knocking on their door.

"I think you should both go and recover" Anne announced.

* * *

Marilla chuckled as she lay in John's warm arms.

"What's that?"

"It occurs to me that I would make a poor explorers wife. Ten days separation was too long for me."

"Never fear darling, there's only one place I wish to explore." and he rolled over to kiss her.

They emerged a day later. "Good reunion?" was Anne's only remark.

"Very satisfactory, thank you" said Marilla, as she fixed her hair.

* * *

* Sir John Franklin should be familiar to my Australian readers, he was the Governor of Van Dieman's Land (Tasmania), they named the Franklin River after him.  
** Roald Amundsen took a tiny craft through in 1903, but as the channel was too shallow in parts, it was commercially impractical. Amundsen went on to greater fame as an Antarctic explorer being the first to reach the South Pole, ahead of Scott of the Antarctic.

A/N As a result of climate change, the North West Passage is now navigable, but the two canals, Panama and Suez rendered it unnecessary.

 **Rachellynde** Marilla forgot the past four years. She's known John Blythe forever, so she remembers him, just not being married to him.


	33. Chapter 33 Parenthood

_Sorry for the radio silence. We took the family on holiday to California for a couple of weeks. This came to me halfway through our trip._

 **Guest,** here's a Dora story just for you.

* * *

 **Parenthood**

Marilla attempted to pick up wee Sara; who at nineteen months was stubbornly refusing to walk, content to scoot around on her bottom; but there was a problem. Marilla bent over with her arms around Sara's armpits, unable to stand up again. It wasn't that her back hurt, just that Sara suddenly seemed too heavy. Marilla stood up again and regarded the baby on the floor. "Well madam, it's time for your nap, but it appears I won't be the one putting you in your cot after all. John," she called out. "Can you give me a hand?"

John was out the back door and he came in at once. "What can I do?"

"Please put Sara in the cot, it's time for her nap, and she's grown too heavy for me."

"Isn't Rachel coming soon?"

"Yes, she should be here in a few minutes. I'll just put the kettle on."

John scooped Sara up into his arms and carried her off to the spare bedroom where they kept a cot for visiting grandchildren.

Marilla bustled around the kitchen setting out the tea things. She'd baked earlier in the day and had a fresh batch of plum puffs looking particularly delicious on their plate. A knock on the door heralded her oldest friend and she welcomed Rachel in, saying that John would be in to join them presently. "He's just putting little Sara down for her nap."

The two women sat down at the kitchen table, Rachel eyed the plate. "Ooh, Marilla. You know how I enjoy one of your puffs."

"You make them sound quite sinful, Rachel."

Rachel roared with laughter, until Marilla shushed her, "shh, the baby."

With the tea poured and the puffs on individual plates, the ladies settled in for a yarn. After a while Marilla wondered where John had gotten to, "I'll just go in and check everything's all right, if you'll excuse me for a moment." She stood up and walked over to the room closing the door softly behind her. Rachel stayed sitting down looking around the kitchen. The room was almost as familiar as her own, so often had she visited over the years. Marilla came back in and declared "sleeping like a baby" as she deposited Sara in Rachel's lap*. Not only had John failed to get Sara to nap, he had instead fallen asleep himself.

"Why would he be so exhausted?" Rachel asked with a wink.

"Rachel! It's nothing like that I promise you. We had Davy's boys up here yesterday. They always exhaust us. You know I never thought I'd ever see the like of young Davy, but now he has these twins who are every bit as rambunctious as he ever was."

"Double the trouble, as they say," Rachel commented.

"Indeed. Poor John is run off his feet keeping them out of mischief." Marilla was rummaging around in the pantry for a husk of bread to keep Sara happy, judging that plum puffs would merely be smeared all over her face, hair and dress, something her mother would not be happy to see when she came to pick her up at the end of the day. When she located a nice piece, she held it out for Sara.

"Is this one any closer to walking?" Rachel enquired.

"Doesn't seem remotely interested. Sometimes I think I should employ her to polish my floors."

Rachel placated Marilla "I've heard that the ones that never crawl can be late walkers. She'll get there eventually."

"I'm sure. It makes it hard work for Dora though. I found out just this afternoon that I couldn't pick Sara up from the floor."

A gigantic snore emanated from the bedroom making Rachel raise her eyebrows. "Goodness, I hope John isn't always that noisy at night."

Marilla rolled her eyes, "sometimes."

* * *

Dora and Ralph had planned a trip to the beach and had invited Marilla and John to join them. It was a beautiful hot summer's day, perfect for paddling adults and babies. After their picnic the women sat on the blanket under a parasol Marilla had brought along for the purpose, while the men took young Sara for a stroll along the beach, her clear laugh sounded like a bell when the men dipped her toes into the rolling waves.

Dora sobbed all of a sudden.

"What is it Dora?"

Dora merely continued to sob. Marilla pulled Dora's head down onto her lap, sometimes it was easier to bare one's soul when you weren't looking directly at the other person. She sat there with her daughter weeping in her lap, watching a seagull as it dipped and soared above them. They sat there for a while, until Marilla could feel her skirts dampen with Dora's tears. Eventually Dora said, "I just feel so guilty, Marilla."

"Guilty?" Marilla was honestly perplexed, she couldn't imagine what her perfectly behaved daughter could have to feel guilty about.

"It's just you know, now I'm a mother myself, I have a better understanding of what Mama went through. At the time I was just angry that she couldn't look after Davy and I."

"Darling Dora, it's perfectly natural that you should feel that way. You were just a baby really, but her illness meant you were denied a childhood."

"It's wicked though isn't it, to feel that way?"

"Has this been weighing on your mind darling?" Marilla stroked her youngest daughter's blonde hair as it cascaded down her skirts. "It's far from dreadful to feel that way. You should have had much easier time and then there was Davy." She felt rather than heard Dora's muffled sob. Marilla's hearing was not as keen as it once was, but she could imagine what anguish was being suffered down in her skirts.

"Davy?" Dora lifted her head imperceptibly so that the sound could escape and turned her head to get more air, it was stifling with her face pressed into Marilla's lap. "Why do you mention Davy?"

"It's just you know I don't think I'll ever forget that first week with you both, and by that I mean with Davy."

"He was a harum scarum."

"He was that. I should have spent more time mothering you, Anne too. But we were at our wit's end managing your brother. You were so well behaved, it was too easy to forget you, but you were grieving for your mother, your home. I feel guilty about that time. Do you recall the time he locked you in the Harrison's shed?"

"Vaguely."

"We dragged the well before Anne eventually found you. Davy thought it was getting a bit dull and decided to liven things up."

"Oh."

"Yes, I was terribly cross with him. Anne was able to placate me and chastise Davy. I don't think I could have managed without her. But I should have done more to help you."

"Marilla, you mustn't feel that way. You and Anne were perfect. You protected me, you cared for me, I couldn't have had better parents, please don't say you feel sad about that time. It was as though I had arrived in heaven."

"Do you remember your mother?"

"Only snatches really. She was always in bed, always tired. She had no energy to look after either of us."

"And your father?"

Dora was silent for a moment. To tell the truth, Dora did have dim, distant memories of her father, but they were mostly unhappy. "Some. I can remember cowering under the bedroom covers with Davy, listening to raised voices below. We never knew what the arguments were about, but I can recall my feeling of unease and worry. Davy always thought they were arguing about him and it fell to me to placate him, though to be honest I really had no idea if he was to blame or not.

When Papa moved out west for work, it was a mixed blessing. The arguments ceased, but then Mama was left to fend for herself" Dora paused, "It's just now I'm a mother I understand how difficult it must have been for her I find it exhausting enough and I'm not ill. I mean I'm not feeling well, but I know why."

"Are you having another baby, darling?"

"Mmm, I think so. I'm exhausted all the time, I find it so hard to manage Sara. I didn't have any sympathy for Mama back then, but it must have been so very difficult for her."

"Darling you were barely more than a baby yourself. You weren't to know how hard it was for her. Tell me, did I help you last time, when you were pregnant with Sara?"

Dora sat up. "You ... you don't remember?"

Sadly, Marilla replied, "No darling, I wish I did. But I don't."

"You moved in for a bit. I was so ill. I couldn't cook, I couldn't keep the house. Poor Ralph was at his wit's end. So, you took over for a few weeks, until it passed. You cared for me and you cared for him." Dora took Marilla's hand in her own and squeezed it gently, "you saved us."

"Have you told Ralph how you feel?"

"No, he'll think I'm being ridiculous."

"He won't darling, he'll be sympathetic. You should tell him what's on your mind. Look, they're coming back. They'll be thirsty. You lie there and I'll pour them some water." Marilla was determined to continue to help Dora any way she could.

* * *

Lying in bed that night, Marilla sighed.

"What is it?" John enquired.

"Dora. She's feeling guilty."

"Dora?" John was mystified. "What could she possibly be feeling guilty about?"

"Her feelings towards her mother," Marilla explained.

"She was just a baby surely?" John countered.

"Yes, but now that she's a mother herself she feels guilty about the resentment she harboured."

"Dora's mother was ill, wasn't she?"

Marilla replied, "practically all Dora's life, until the poor woman died."

"Well that was hardly Dora's fault."

"No, but she feels she should have been more sympathetic."

"Ah, that's tricky. What's brought this up now?"

"She's pregnant again. She thanked me for helping last time. I can't remember it of course."

"You were marvellous."

"It'll be even worse this time, I suppose I had better rise to the occasion again." Marilla suggested.

"No." John countered.

"What? Whatever do you mean? I'm her mother, it's my job to help out."

"No Marilla, it's really not. We're not getting any younger. This time Ralph's mother can help out. I think we should do less with Davy's boys too. Look at me the other day, I fell asleep in the middle of the day after looking after them. We can't keep up. We have to look after ourselves and let the younger folk do the child rearing."

"You're not saying we can't see them anymore are you?"

"Of course not, I'm just saying we can't be baby-sitting all the time. I don't know about you, but I just don't have the energy I once had."

"You know," Marilla said "it is nice to have you looking out for me." She snuggled into his side as he caressed her hair.

"Sometimes I think I do a better job of it than you do."

"Mm, look after me some more right now, would you?"

"That is never a chore, Mrs Blythe." He turned out the light and rolled towards his wife.

* * *

* I know there's a plot hole here with Marilla being unable to pick Sara up because she's too heavy and then carrying her out to Rachel's lap shortly after. Let's just say picking her up from her cot is easier than from the floor.


	34. Chapter 34 Words

Despite John's exhortations to Marilla to look after herself rather than Dora, Marilla found it terribly difficult to take a back seat, especially as Dora was struggling. As her belly swelled, she found it increasingly difficult to care for Sara. She and Ralph had consulted the doctor about her refusal to walk and were told that there was nothing inherently wrong with her, and that she would start to walk eventually.

* * *

Tick – tock, tick – tock the clock ticked loudly in the parlour. The only other sound was that of little Sara as she played with her blocks on the floor; stacking them one on top of the other in a crazy lopsided tower and then laughing gleefully when she pushed the stack over, only to start again. Mrs Andrews regarded her, frowning silently. Without looking at Dora she said "You must understand how this looks. We have never had such a late walker in the Andrews family. I do hope there is nothing amiss."

Dora got the distinct feeling the worry was more for her Andrews family's reputation than for Sara herself. "The … the doctor assures me there is nothing the matter," Dora stammered. "It's just a matter of time."

She was naturally concerned at Sara's lack of progress, other children her age were already running. Dora's friends were busy lamenting how fast they were and how quickly they got into mischief. While it was physically easier to have her not yet walking while she herself was so large with Sara's younger sibling, the criticism from her mother in law was increasingly hard to bear.

* * *

Marilla was over at Dora's, mopping the floors as young Sara napped. As she slopped the water around she looked over at Dora with some concern. Dora may not have ever been effusive, but she was quiet even for her. "Are you all right darling? Can I bring you anything?"

Tears sprang to Dora's eyes as she regarded the woman she considered her mother, "No, no I'm fine, Marilla, really." She turned away to fetch a handkerchief to wipe the tears away. Marilla set the mop against the kitchen table and walked over to Dora, enveloping her in her arms.

"I can see it isn't. What's the matter? What's happened?"

Dora hesitated to burden Marilla, but she really did feel desperate, "It's Mother Andrews, she's concerned about Sara, I'm sure she thinks I'm a terrible mother, that it's my fault. Is it my fault, Marilla? Am I doing something wrong?"

Marilla led Dora over to the sofa and sat her down. "You've been worried about Sara for a while now, darling?"

"Uh huh," nodded Dora. "We've consulted the doctor who says it's just a matter of time. But I don't even think Mother Andrews is worried about Sara, she's worried about the family reputation. As though, as though having a cripple…"

"Sara is no cripple, darling."

"As though having a cripple would be a stain on the family," Dora continued, "it's so hurtful."

"What does Ralph say?"

"He says I should ignore his mother. He says he'll ask her to back off. But I can't hide behind him forever."

* * *

The next day Marilla resolved to pay a visit to Mrs Andrews. She did not like confrontation, but felt she had best strike while the iron was hot. She dressed in her visiting clothes, making sure that her hair was neat and tidy, and her best dress and hat were clean. She had an impression to make. As she climbed into the buggy, John kissed her and told her to keep her temper.

"I assure you I may not. That woman needs to mind her manners regarding my daughter and her daughter in law. It is absolutely outrageous that she is making Dora miserable. I won't stand for it."

Once she had arrived, she checked her temper. It would achieve nothing to lose it before she got started. Taking a few deep breaths, Marilla climbed down from the buggy and walked over to the Andrews' front door, rapping it twice with her knuckles.

"Good morning, Mrs Blythe. How lovely to see you again," if Mrs Andrews was shocked to see Marilla standing on her doorstep first thing in the morning, she hid it well, "do come in."

Marilla walked in to the house. She had been there often enough, for Ladies Aids meetings among other things. It was rather overstuffed with knick knacks for Marilla's taste.

"Shall we have tea?" Mrs Andrews offered, her hand hovering over the maid's bell.

"No thank you, this is not a social call," Marilla replied testily.

"Oh. Well what have you to say to me then? Is it about Dora by any chance. Are you going to tell me that the baby is finally walking?"

"Now look here Mrs Andrews, your ridiculously high standards are creating an unnecessary rod for Dora's back. She has enough on her plate with Sara and her pregnancy. I told her to go to you for help too, but she's not getting it, is she? Instead you are using the situation as an opportunity to criticize her parenting skills. It's not her fault Sara isn't walking yet. I had a chat to my son in law, Doctor Blythe, about it and he told me that it is unusual, but not unknown for a child to take this long to get on their feet, and that children who scoot on their bottoms are notoriously slow. I want you to support Dora, surely you, of all people can recall what it is like to be pregnant."

"Unlike you," smirked Mrs Andrews. Marilla felt blood rush to her cheeks.

"That was uncalled for, Mrs Andrews. I may not have given birth, as you well know, but I have mothered three children myself and grand mothered numerous babes. I well understand how much work it is, yet you seem to have forgotten. Are you so mean spirited that you can use this trying time as a point scoring exercise, Mrs Andrews? I see that you are as small minded as ever."

Marilla drew breath and waited for Mrs Andrews' response, when there was none, she just looked at the woman, pointedly. Thinking that while it was a shame she herself never married when she was young, it did at least mean she never was saddled with such a mean mother in law. Eventually Mrs Andrews responded, "now you listen here Mrs Blythe, your charge Dora."

"I consider her my daughter, as you well know," Marilla countered.

"Your charge," reiterated Mrs Andrews "married my son against my better judgement. Ralph assured me that despite Dora's patchy beginnings," Marilla visibly bridled at that, "she would make an excellent wife and mother to any Andrews progeny. Now it seems that my hesitation was correct. If this baby grows up to be a cripple, it will be a terrible stain on the Andrews' good name."

"For heaven's sake, the child is not yet two years old and you have already written her off."

"She is over eighteen months and to the best of my knowledge shows no interest in walking. That is cause for concern surely. Dora and you seem to think all is normal, I assure you it is not. Ralph was walking by twelve months, I will have you know. Any deficiency comes from the Keith side, not the Andrews'. If she does not walk soon, I think the only alternative will be to put her in a home for cripples and forget about her."

Marilla stared at Mrs Andrews, aghast and speechless, recognising that Mrs Andrews was deadly serious. Marilla knew she had to get out of there before she made a scene. Standing up suddenly, she rushed out of the house.

* * *

John looked out at the gate about an hour after Marilla had left. He hoped nothing untoward had happened. Marilla would always advocate on behalf of her children, sometimes to the detriment of good manners. Was that the buggy returning? He walked out to the gate to open it. Marilla drove in, a face full of thunder. "I take it, it didn't go well?"

"That woman! She..." Marilla trailed off. She had no words.

"Come in, you can tell me over coffee."

In the comforting Green Gables kitchen, John poured the coffee into two cups and sat watching Marilla as she gradually calmed down. "Mrs Andrews is not remotely worried about Sara per se. Her only concern is for family honour. She told me she had her misgivings when Ralph proposed to Dora, and that now she feels vindicated."

"Misgivings, what sort of misgivings could she have had?" John was perplexed.

Marilla explained, "because Dora is an orphan."

"My lord. What a woman, poor Dora."

"Yes, if I had known her feelings on the matter, I would have interceded myself, I expect."

"What did you have to say to that?" John would have liked to have been a fly on the wall for this conversation.

"I'm afraid I ran away, I was afraid I would make a scene. I'll have to come up with a better response soon. She said if Sara didn't walk soon, they would arrange to put her in a home for cripples."

"My God!" John clapped his hands to his mouth, "she'd do that?"

Marilla nodded, "she was deathly serious."

* * *

 _Green Gables_

 _Dearest Anne_

 _I hope this letter finds you well, as it leaves us. I had a headache earlier this week, but I assure you I am on the mend._

 _Our darling Dora is melancholic. At seven months pregnant you might think she should be euphoric, but she is worried about Sara who is still refusing to stand on her own two feet without assistance. I help out when I can, but I'm unable to do much as I find Sara too heavy to carry these days. So, instead of having her at Green Gables too often, I have been going over to Dora's house to help out with the housework._

 _I had hoped that Mrs Andrews would be of some assistance, but it seems she thinks Dora is akin to an unfit mother and makes no bones about telling her whenever she gets a chance. Poor Dora has been brought down quite low about the matter._

 _As Mrs Andrews herself pointed out, I have not reared little ones personally. Can you believe the audacity of that woman? She smirked as she said it too. I had the beginnings of a headache threading through my temples as she spoke, and it took all my years of training to behave politely and not smack her cheek._

 _In any case if you, and perhaps Gilbert, could drop Dora a line, I would appreciate it. You two have far more experience in these matters than I, and Dora may listen to you more than she will to me. She of course is far politer about it, but it is true that my experience on these matters is limited._

 _Your devoted mother,_

 _Marilla Blythe_

* * *

 _Ingleside_

 _Dearest sister,_

 _I hear you are having a rather difficult time with young Sara. Marilla tells me she is not yet walking. Dora, I know you must be several months along by now, this must be so hard for you. Now Marilla also told me that Mrs Andrews is not being as supportive as she might be._

 _Darling, I want you to disregard whatever unkind nonsense she is uttering. Babies are notorious for developing at different times, Sara might be a tad slow to walk, but this is absolutely no reflection on you or your parenting. I may not be in close proximity, darling, but I can only imagine what a perfect mother you must be. You have always been so caring, so considerate of others; perfect attributes for any mother. You are a wonderful mother to Sara and to your next child and any further children you and Ralph have. Darling I want you to tell Marilla or I, if Mrs Andrews continues to criticize you. You know as well as I what a marvelous advocate we both have in Marilla. She is not afraid to defend us against anyone should the need arise. People can be so unkind, but us daughters' of Green Gables will always stick together._

 _I have a suggestion for you. Nan and Di are of a useful age by now, at eleven. I'm sure they think they are too young yet, but I couldn't even count the number of diapers I had changed by that age. They are certainly capable of helping out around the house and with young Sara, taking some of the pressure off you at this stressful time. School is out Friday next, I'll send them over to you, if you agree, on the following Monday._

 _Your beloved sister,_

 _Anne_

* * *

 _Ingleside_

 _Dear Dora,_

 _On Anne's request I've done a little research on late walkers, particularly non crawlers such as your Sara. Now of course I haven't had a chance to examine her, but assuming there are no underlying issues, she should walk independently eventually. This may be small comfort to you right now as constantly carrying a child whilst you are also pregnant is trying. My advice would be to frustrate Sara. Don't carry her, place objects of desire just put her reach - unless she stands up. It will be noisy, she will scream, but hopefully she will also learn to pull herself up. Cruising, that is walking whilst hanging on, is an important step (if you will pardon the pun) towards walking. Hopefully in a short time she will get the hang of it and you'll be complaining that she's running you off your feet._

 _With love_

 _Gilbert Blythe_

* * *

 _Avonlea_

 _Dearest Sister_

 _I want express my heart felt thanks for your encouraging letter. I admit I have been feeling sad and hopeless about my ability to care for Sara. I feel pathetic that at my age I still have to rely on you and Marilla to fight my battles and support me. I should be able to stand up to Mother Andrews. I am an adult and now a mother myself. And yet somehow I find she expresses out loud all my hidden fears. What if Sara never does walk? What will we do then? Could I keep her here, could I manage? Or will we have to put my darling in a home for cripples? I don't think I could bear that Anne._

 _I think these terrible dark thoughts, but I never express them. Marilla must think them too, but kindly she keeps them to herself, but Mother Andrews seems to delight in making me feel small and insignificant and a failure somehow._

 _She already thought I was not really good enough to marry her son. I had an unconventional upbringing, was an orphan, had no standing in the community, and now this._

 _On another note, it is lovely of you to offer to send your girls over. I feel I should decline, but I spoke to Ralph about it and he agrees that it is a splendid idea. Not only will their help be very welcome, but it would be lovely to get to know the girls better and for the cousins to bond._

 _I will put them in the guest bedroom. The bed there is big enough for two._

 _With love_

 _Dora_

* * *

 _Ingleside_

 _Dearest sister_

 _Did you know that Billy Andrews once proposed to me, though he was too much of a coward to do it in person, and dragooned Jane to deliver the proposal by proxy. Naturally I refused, not just because I didn't care for Billy. I believed, rightfully I suspect, that Mother Andrews and I would endure a fiery relationship. Darling if you are not good enough, what would she have made of me? Next time she starts in on you, I want you to think of what I would say in that situation. If you are at her place, just leave. Just stand up, gather Sara up and walk home. You do not, I repeat, you do not have to listen to that toxic talk._

 _What does Ralph have to say on the matter? Can he stand up to his mother?_

 _Nan and Di will arrive on the 4 o'clock train. They are very excited._

 _With fondest love_

 _Anne_


	35. Chapter 35 Cruel to be Kind

If you check out my review page for this (and other stories) you will see that I have been attacked by a spammer. This is annoying, so I have turned off review alerts. Don't stop leaving proper reviews though. I will read them and respond.

* * *

 **You've Got to be Cruel to be Kind**

* * *

Di and Nan Blythe were very excited. It had been arranged that they, and they alone, would be travelling to Avonlea to help their Aunt Dora look after their little cousin Sara. They had met Sara last Christmas, but they expected she was more animated and cuter by now. Both girls often felt their family considered them too young and considered this their chance to be treated like the mature eleven-year-olds they felt themselves to be. "Eleven is not a child any longer," Nan muttered to Di, "maybe after this, Mother and Dad will treat us with a bit more respect." Di nodded earnestly, she felt the same way, that their parents treated them like children.

The girls had been placed on the train after many heartfelt farewells. Anne and Gilbert had thought long and hard but decided that as the twins were together and would be picked up at the train station, they could be trusted to manage the journey unassisted. "After all, Gil," Anne reasoned, "I was journeying by myself at the same age. No one thought I was too young."

Aunt Marilla and Grandpa John were at the station to meet them as expected. The girls were enfolded into their grandmother's arms as soon as they disembarked. John collected their baggage and then gave them both a quick hug. "Thank you for agreeing to come, girls," Marilla enthused, "your Aunt Dora could really do with a hand."

Little Sara was just as cute as the girls imagined. She had her mother and her uncle Davy's white hair and bright blue eyes. She had this funny way of getting around, on her bottom which made the older girls giggle at first. Until their Aunt Dora told them that was part of the problem. "It's time she learnt to walk, as sweet as it looks."

"Yes, Dad told us," Nan replied, "he says we're to make life difficult for her."

"I expect it will be a bit noisy around here, she's not going to like it. It's for the best though." Dora did not tell the girls about Mother Andrew's opinions regarding Sara. She knew they would be appalled.

* * *

27 May  
Avonlea

 _Dearest Jane,_

 _Your little niece, Sara is still not walking at twenty months. I am very concerned. I believe Dora and Ralph are foolishly ignoring this fact. Mrs Blythe is no better. It is as if they are all living in some fairy realm. None of you took this long to walk, I expect there is something amiss with her. They believe they can care for the child in her state. I have told them that if she does not get onto her feet soon, I will be sending her to the asylum for crippled children where she belongs._

 _..._

 _4 June  
Winnipeg_

 _Dearest Mother,_

 _What are you talking about? I believe little Sara is a delightful child. Surely you recall that all babies develop at different speeds. What I or Prissy or Billy or Ralph were up to at eighteen months is irrelevant. This is your granddaughter you are talking about. I worry that you will be equally judgmental if my Andrew or Victoria fail at some point. Please tell me that my fears are unfounded. I pray you leave Dora and Ralph alone and let Sara develop at her own pace._

* * *

Ruth Andrews had come to a decision, despite Jane's exhortations to let Sara be, she was sure there was a problem. Rather than have the family name besmirched she determined that it would be better for all concerned if Sara were placed in a home, where she would get the care she needed. Ruth couldn't understand why the family were against this, it was obvious to her. Thankfully there was another baby on the way, this new child could take attention off Sara, especially as it hopefully be normal. The world would soon forget the cripple, and no one would be any the wiser.

Since her fool son and his sentimental wife seemed to be in no hurry to place Sara in a home, Ruth determined to take care of matters herself. Choosing a day when she knew Ralph would be gone, and thus out of the way, she made her way over to their house with the express purpose of removing Sara.

Fortunately for Sara, Marilla and the twins were helping Dora out for the day. The twins were of course staying, while Marilla was visiting to help with the housework.

Di and Nan were doing their best to frustrate Sara, placing a delicious looking treat just out of her reach. It was hard work, Sara was crying in exasperation, she had tried to reach it by the normal method, but it was too high. Next, she looked at her big cousins and her Mama who were usually helpful, none of them moved a muscle. Sara let out a loud scream. The cake looked so nice too. "Take a bite," Dora suggested to Nan.

"That's so mean," Di commented, admiringly. She had thought her Aunt Dora was softer than that.

Smiling pointedly at Sara, Nan picked up the cake and took a big bite. Then said "Mmmm, yum yum, Sara, this cake is delicious," and rubbed her tummy, "if only you could reach it, Sara."

All eyes were on Sara as her little face turned pink with vexation, thus no one noticed the front door quietly opening. Before anyone had a chance to react, Mrs Andrews had plucked Sara from the floor and was walking out of the room towards the front door.

Several things happened at once.

Sara continued to scream, but now from shock as much as vexation.

Dora yelled "No!" and burst into tears.

Marilla sprang to barricade the door to stop Mrs Andrews from leaving.

The younger girls stood stock still with their mouths agape, not understanding what Mrs Andrews was doing.

"Now don't make a fuss," Ruth announced, "you know this is the right thing to do. Once you have had your baby, Dora, you'll forget all about Sara. I'm not going to hurt her, she'll be better off. Mrs Blythe, please let me through."

Marilla stood with her back to the door, stopping Mrs Andrews from leaving.

"Please don't make a scene, Marilla, it's embarrassing to all concerned."

"You are not taking that child, Ruth. Give her to me. Now!" Marilla's eyes were blazing.

"No."

"I am not moving. I will wait patiently."

Ruth looked around the room. The child was getting heavy, and she could see that there was no other way out. "You are all ridiculous. I don't understand you at all." Placing Sara in Marilla's arms, Ruth waited until Marilla stood aside to let her leave.

Dora sobbed as Marilla placed Sara in her arms. Marilla hugged them both gently and looked around to the twins. "Girls, could you bring us some tea, please?"

When the twins had departed for the kitchen, Marilla led Dora through to the sofa.

"She's been threatening to take Sara away for a while, but I never thought she'd actually go through with it," Dora said tearily.

"Hopefully, she sees that she can't get through our defenses, Dora darling. We won't let anything happen." Marilla consoled.

"Maybe, the twins can get her to walk?"

"That's the plan isn't it?"

"Gilbert says there's probably nothing wrong."

"Just give the girls' a bit of time. I'm sure they'll get her on her feet."

* * *

A day later Di was standing about a yard away from Nan, with little Sara between them. The girls were playing catch with Sara's favourite doll. They were careful to throw it just out her reach. If anyone had been able to ask Sara about her cousins, she would have told them she wasn't very fond of them right now. As it was she was crying in frustration as the doll was thrown slightly too high for her to catch. She turned this way and that, watching the doll intently, her hands outstretched.

Next Nan took hold of Sara by the arms and gently pulled her up to standing, balancing her on her feet. They stood like that for a bit, until Nan walked Sara forward, encouraging her to move each foot. Di placed some cushions on the ground and they demonstrated crawling around and over them. This got Sara laughing and mimicking them.

The twins were always thinking up new ways to get Sara to move, making life difficult for her and putting up with her cries of frustration. They would walk together each holding on to one hand, and gradually let go of one hand and then the other, while at the same time encouraging her to walk. They would stand an arm's length away from Sara, hold out their hands, and give an encouraging "Come to me." Sometimes Sara would crawl towards them instead of walking and then climb up a leg. When that happened they would hold her by one hand and gradually let go as they backed away from her, encouraging her. They made it all a fun game, never getting cross when she couldn't manage it. Between them, they had infinite patience and energy.

Dora, increasingly heavy and uncomfortable was very relieved to have the girls around to help. She watched as Di picked up a grizzly Sara to put her down for a nap. "You girls are such a help to me. Do you need a day off?"

"What? No, this is so much fun, Aunty Dora," Nan responded with a smile, "we love looking after Sara. I just wish she would walk though, I think she'd love it."

Eventually one afternoon, shortly before Sara went down for her nap, she took one independent step and then another before plopping down on her bottom. Di gave a short gasp, which made Dora look up in shock. "What? what is it?"

"She just took a couple of steps on her own. She just walked. C'mon Sara, show Mama how clever you are."

Di lifted Sara up to her feet again and let go as she walked towards her mother. One ... two ... three ... four steps, and into her waiting mother's arms for a big hug. "You clever baby, well done darling." Dora twirled around with Sara in her arms, both of them laughing.

* * *

 _Green Gables_  
 _Avonlea_  
 _29 June_

 _Dearest Anne_

 _Well the twins have done it! Darling Sara is walking, and just in time too. Dora's waters broke shortly after Sara took her first steps and she was delivered of a bouncing baby boy, Henry Matthew. A gorgeous big boy with a faint smudge of fair hair. I suspect his hair will be white like Dora and Davy's. Ralph and Dora are delighted._

 _I have brought the girls back to Green Gables to give the young family some private time and to let the girls have a vacation, getting Sara to walk was a great deal of work._


	36. Chapter 36 The White Rose Bush

**Thank you for the response to my Dora/Sara/Ruth Andrews story. There is more to say on that relationship, but this has been rattling around in my brain, desparate to be published.**

 **The White Rose**

 _"I took a slip of the little white scotch rose bush his mother brought out from Scotland long ago. Matthew always liked those roses the best - they were so small and sweet on their thorny stems."*_

* * *

"Uh oh. Oh boys, this is not good. It's not good at all."

Little Matty and Tommy were over for the afternoon, their mother had a cold and had asked them to babysit for a few hours. There had been a suspicious silence for about half an hour, which in hindsight, John realised, was a harbinger of doom. Now as he peered out the front door, he could see what was left of Marilla's precious white rose bush. The bush she tended so lovingly, now hacked to pieces, petals and leaves strewn around the front yard.

* * *

It was just a slip of a thing, a little white rose bush. Tiny really, yet tenacious. It stood by the croft's front door bobbing in the wind. Its flowers had a rare, almost ghostly appearance especially when viewed by moonlight. When a traveler journeyed home the sight of it made one's heart glad and step lighter.

It predated their time in the small stone house, built by folk no one now knew. The croft had stood in that spot for decades. Each generation making the spare house their own, watching their bairns born, grow and move away. Throughout the little white rose bush watched over them all. A steady light to guide them home.

On rare sunny Scottish summer days, flowers would bloom, creating a sentinel against the green hillside. David Cuthbert would spy it on his journey home, bobbing in the gentle breeze. It looked fragile, but although a brutal wind might knock a few petals off, the rose bush flourished.

* * *

As crofters David and Constance Cuthbert had no land rights. When the Laird had told them via his agent that they were not making enough money from the land; sheep were more economical, they had to leave.

They had heard rumours up and down the valley of similar events. Last week the MacDonalds and the week before the Grays had been similarly ejected. Now they stood outside, the smoking embers providing the last remnants of warmth. A chilly wind blew smoke in their eyes, the acrid smell stayed in their nostrils for a long time. They hated to leave their home.

David Cuthbert presented his young wife Constance with the rose bush wrapped in a piece of hessian sack. It was the one last remnant of their lovingly tended garden. All that was left after the men ripped up their home.

The weather changed on this dreich day, now it began to sleet. The wind drove the slivers of ice into their cheeks. Constance tightly wrapped her shawl about her and David hugged her waist with his right arm. "Well we can't stay here."

"But where shall go?"

"The MacDonalds mentioned something about Glasgow, we should head for there."

"Aye." Constance trusted her husband in the matter. firmly grasping the rose bush in her cold red hands. They gave their home one backwards glance, thereby imprinting one last ghastly image on their brains. Their small stone house in ruins, a thin line of smoke reaching up to the glowering clouds.

The trip north, from the rural lowlands to the sprawling city of Glasgow was long and arduous. The weather was cold, and the roads muddy. They were not alone, many other folk had been tipped out of their houses too. They had with them a some food, a few coins, the clothes on their backs and the rose bush, that was all.

Eventually after a long journey they arrived in the big city. Glasgow was loud, dirty and busy. In their peasant clothes they stood out. They asked about for directions and some kind person directed them down to the docks. The River Clyde was teeming with ships, David fancied he could have walked clear across the wide river from ship to ship. The shipping agent told them there were a few destinations, America, Australia and Canada. David had heard of Canada, it was a popular destination for Scots and he believed they might be able to make a living there. A ship was found and they bought passage using up most of their coin.

Clutching each other they made their way over the gangplank and settled themselves in a bunk below decks. It was a noisome spot, but it would be their home for the next twelve weeks. Constance made the acquaintance of their bunk neighbours, other Scottish folk from various parts of the country. People they would be in close quarters with during the voyage.

The ship set sail that afternoon and almost immediately the sounds of folk being seasick commenced. David and Constance hugged each other for comfort, feeling decidedly bilious themselves. The stench intensified. If anyone had been able to keep the food in their stomach at first, the smell would have forced them to be ill shortly after, and the Cuthberts were no different. They spent the first days hunched over a bucket, taking turns as all around their neighbours were similarly afflicted.

The passage from Scotland to Canada was best forgotten. Passing as it did in the dark, disgusting hold of a tiny ship, buffeted to and fro across the northern Atlantic. David's stomach eventually settled down, but Constance's did not. She found out the reason why halfway through their voyage, as her belly began to swell.

They were relieved when land was sighted. A hurrah went up from the crow's nest and spirits aboard the ship lifted. Shortly after the ship docked at Halifax, Nova Scotia. "We'll be welcomed here, it's practically Scotland itself with that name," David remarked to Constance.

It felt strange to be on land, and in fact the rocking sensation stayed with them for hours after they disembarked. At the docks land agents were looking for labourers, promising them houses and good jobs. David as green as any new immigrant, though desperately wanting to appear more experienced, walked up to one such man and was offered a job on the spot on an island a few days' journeyaway, Prince Edward Island was its name. The agent arranged everything and along with some of their fellow passengers, the Cuthberts were bundled onto a carriage for the journey north.

The land was sparse, yet reminded them of home. It was bitterly cold though. They had been told that the winters here were colder than any they had experienced in Scotland, but found it hard to believe. Now it was apparent that the warnings had been correct. A bitter wind blew snowflakes all about. Constance feared for herself and for the rose bush she had tended throughout the voyage. It was her plan to plant it wherever they fetched up, a small reminder of home.

David started working for a rich farmer who provided them with a small house. Their son Matthew was born there, the first Cuthbert to be born in Canada. After a few years, David had saved enough money to enable them to buy a plot of good farming land in Avonlea, a small town on the island. They built their house with help from the neighbours, it was set back from the road a ways.

The Cuthbert family were quiet folk, not given to gossip. Being apart from the town suited them. David took the little white rose bush which had miraculously survived all this time and gently planted it by the front door to remind them of their little house on a Scottish hillside reluctantly left so long ago. A girl, Marilla was born in their little house, which they christened Green Gables on account of the roof colour.

Once the children were old enough, Constance told them the story of the little white rose bush; how it had greeted travellers back home in Scotland, how it had survived the ship's hold, and how it thrived despite the harsh Canadian winters.

* * *

John presented Marilla with the now torn up bush and poured its white petals into her hands. Matty and Tommy had never seen their grandmother weep, and they were very sorry to see her do it now. All she could say was a sorrowful "Oh." before she turned away for a private cry, waving John away. She stumbled out of the house walking swiftly, but without purpose. Eventually she fetched up at the trunk of an ancient apple tree, far from the road. She sank down onto its roots and sat there sobbing for some time, in deep despair.

The rose bush was her family's last tenuous link to their homeland. Marilla had watched her mother tend the bush through the harsh Canadian winters and had taken its care upon herself. She had betrayed her parents, betrayed their ancestors, betrayed her heritage.

* * *

"D-does G-granny hate us now?"

John shifted his gaze towards a tearful young Tommy. "No! Granny still loves you. She's just sad is all. That rose bush was very dear to her. Come I'll clean you both up." The boys had tracks of snot down their lips and teary eyes. They had been wailing since John had found them standing over the remains of the bush.

Davy came to pick the boys up just before dinner. Marilla had not yet returned. Davy found John sitting with the boys in the kitchen. He could see the boys had been crying. "What's the matter? What's happened?"

"The boys have been naughty."

"I'm sorry, John. What did they do?"

"They destroyed Marilla's white rose bush."

Davy went pale "Oh, boys." He looked at them reprovingly, causing a fresh bout of crying to break out. "Where's Marilla now? I must apologise."

"She went out."

"Will she be all right? I mean how long has she been gone?"

"I hope so, it's been a few hours."

"Oh. Do you think we should send out a search party."

"No, I'm sure she'll be fine. She knows the area as well as anyone. I expect she'll be home presently. If you'll just take the boys home now."

"Of course. Tell her I'm sorry. I know that bush is irreplaceable."

"I will. She knows the boys are sorry. She just has to process it, you know."

"Come boys, it's time for dinner. Give Grandpa a hug now." Both boys reached up to give John a hug and a kiss and he waved them goodbye sadly.

* * *

Eventually, after what seemed like a long time spent looking out the window, John spied Marilla coming home. Wearily she walked up the steps to the kitchen door and walked inside. John didn't speak to her. He gently led her into the kitchen and sat her down. He'd prepared a simple supper of eggs and he watched while she ate. Then he led her to their bedroom, undressed her and laid next to her in bed. She laid her head on his chest and sighed.

He woke during the night and glanced over to her, a single tear was reflected in the sliver of moonlight that snuck through the curtains.

The next morning she slept in and he crept downstairs to call Anne.

"Oh no, poor Marilla. But it's not the end of the rose you know."

"Really?"

"I planted a cutting on Matthew's grave after he died. It should still be there."

John got dressed, took a pair of gardening scissors with him and made his way out to Matthew's grave. Sure enough sitting by his grave was a familiar thorny rose bush. Apologising to Matthew, he cut a piece off and wrapped it up in a bit of cloth he'd brought along for the purpose.

Marilla was stirring when he came home and he fetched her dressing gown to place over her shoulders and led her downstairs. She wept again when he showed her the cutting. "Anne told me it wasn't the end. That she had transplanted the rose on Matthew's grave."

'I thought, I thought it was dead. I thought I'd betrayed Mama."

"You could never do that. It was an accident. The boys are just little. They didn't understand."

"Oh, the boys. They must wonder why I reacted so."

"They are terribly sorry you know. In their little boy hearts, they never imagined how important the bush was to you."

"I know. Do they hate me now?"

"Hate you? They are your grandsons. They'll never hate you. They are worried that you might not love them anymore. I told them you just needed some space."

"I did at that. I was in a sorry place."

"Where did you end up?"

"I don't know. I found an old apple tree way back off the road. I spent a bit of time at its foot. Were you worried?"

"Of course, but I figured you'd come home eventually. Mind you I was about to bolt out of the house to come looking for you, if you hadn't come home when you did. I had no idea which direction to start searching though. That was the tricky part."

"I suppose I had better apologise to the children."

"Breakfast first, I think," John ordered.

When they opened the door, they found a note on the doorstep.

 _DeAr GraNNy_

 _We aRe Sowwy we kilt yor RoSe_

 _Luv_

 _MaTtY KeiTH and TOMMy KeItH_

"My heart," Marilla gasped.

"They must have dropped it in recently. I was out here just a few minutes ago," John exclaimed.

The hugs were heartfelt when Marilla and the children were reunited. "We're sorry, Granny. We'll never do it again."

"Oh my darlings. I pray you won't, but I forgive you. It's just a silly little bush, I know. But it's important to me. D'you understand? My Mama brought it out from Scotland before I was born." At the look in their eyes Marilla laughed, "yes, a very very long time ago. It was precious to her and it's precious to me."

"I thought we'd killed it, I'm sorry Granny," Tommy added.

"I thought so too, but your clever Aunty Anne had saved a bit of it for me. I had forgotten. How lucky was that? Will you boys help me plant it again?"

* * *

They made a solemn party. Marilla, John, Davy, Millie and the twins. Davy dug a big hole, the boys took a gentle hold of the thorny bush and Marilla pushed the earth down around its roots, John watered it in. With any luck the rose bush would flourish in the same spot for many years to come.

* * *

* Anne of Green Gables Chapter 37

A/N Although the Highland Clearances are better known, plenty of farmers and other workers were evicted from their homes in the Lowlands too. The Cuthberts spoke English, so I thought they might come from the Lowlands. Most Highlanders spoke only Gaelic.


	37. Chapter 37 Hysteria

_In my last story you all commented about how caring the community was in the 18th century. Here I'm exploring how it wasn't always._

 _ **Warning** : there's an implied non-consensual sex scene at the end and a graphic institutionalisation description _

* * *

**Hysteria**

Dora had given Mother Andrews one last chance. Ralph had spoken with his mother about boundaries, emphasizing that removing their children, no matter how imperative his mother's motives, would never be countenanced, under any circumstance.

That week Ralph had visited Harmon to have a little chat about the situation. Over a cup of coffee in the parlour he broached the subject, "Father, I'm worried about Mother."

"How so?"

"Did you hear what she tried the other day, just before Henry was born?" Ralph explained.

"No?"

"It was just as well Mrs Blythe was there. Mother walked into our house and tried to abduct Sara saying she'd be better off in a crippled asylum."

"She did? She never mentioned it to me. Well Sara is walking now, so the worry is over, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but I need her to understand why it was unacceptable behaviour. Can you back me up, please?"

At dinner that night Harmon gently enquired about the incident.

"Yes, well I was sure she needed help Harmon. I was just doing it for her own good," Ruth explained.

Harmon raised his eyebrow at her.

"Don't be like that Harmon, I'd never touch a hair on her head, I was just worried is all." Ruth ate the last mouthful of her dinner and got up from the table, pushing her chair out with a loud squeak. "I think you're over-reacting, Harmon. I'm just being a concerned grandmother."

* * *

Baby Henry was growing fast. He had woken up from his nap and was lying on a rug on the floor in the parlour watching his big sister Sara play. Dora and Mother Andrews were taking tea as they watched the children and chatted of this and that. Dora was never terribly relaxed around her mother in law, and even less so after the attempted abduction, but Ralph had assured her that his mother would behave.

"I see the Bells are having another grandchild," Mother Andrews stated. There was no judgement in her voice, she was genuinely happy for Mrs Bell.

"Is that Frank's child?" Dora knew Frank from school.

"Yes, that's right, Mrs Bell announced it at the Ladies Aid last week."

"How lovely for them, that would be baby number...?"

"Number three. They already have two daughters. I suppose they'll be hoping for a son now."

At least in Mother Andrew's eyes, Dora was ahead of Frank and his wife, Martha. She had given her mother in law a son to continue the family name. Dora, personally, didn't give two hoots about what gender her children were, she loved them both equally.

Sara got to her feet and toddled over to croon in baby talk to her little brother, lying on a blanket on the floor. Mother Andrews started and went to ward her off, but Dora gently laid a restraining hand on her thigh. "It's fine. She just wants to chat to him. He adores her." She could feel Mother Andrew's anxiety buzzing off her as Sara continued to crouch down next to her brother. Odd. "It's fine Mother."

Ruth glanced back up at Dora, "yes, yes. I suppose so." But she kept a close eye on Sara lest she hurt the baby.

* * *

Dora took the children over to Marilla's for morning tea. By afternoon tea these days, one or both babies would be napping, so mornings worked better for her. Naturally, Marilla was flexible and understanding.

"Is Ruth behaving herself these days?" Marilla enquired as they had both sipped their tea.

"Yes… mostly I think."

"Only mostly?"

"Well, I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's just me. I can't relax when she's around. She's always on edge."

"How so?" Marilla prodded.

"I don't know how to put it. It's just she's terribly worried that Sara will hurt the baby. Sara's just interested in getting to know her little brother. I don't think it's anything out of the ordinary. I see the other children playing with their little brothers or sisters, what Sara does is nothing unusual."

"Hmm, what does she do?"

"She pats him on the head, brings toys over to him, kisses him on the cheek. Nothing to be concerned about, and of course if she does get too rough, I'm never far away."

"Sounds like perfectly normal sibling behaviour to me," suggested Marilla, who really had little experience in the matter, except what she'd witnessed with Anne's children.

"That's what I thought, but Mother Andrews gets very upset if Sara approaches Henry. I spend her visits keeping her calm and the children safe. It's very tense."

"What does Ralph say about it?"

"Well of course, he's not around to witness it. He thinks I'm exaggerating."

Marilla rolled her eyes at Dora. If there was one thing Dora never did, unlike Anne for instance; it was exaggerate. Evidently something her husband had yet to learn.

* * *

A week later Mrs Andrews came around again. To be honest, Dora had not invited her. She was finding it uncomfortable to have her around all the time, but Mother Andrews would not be gainsaid. She barrelled into the house on Tuesday morning, telling Dora that she would take some tea. Yet again, she fussed over the baby, this time admonishing Sara to be more careful as she played around him.

"Mother Andrews, it's fine. I'm keeping an eye on them both. Please, relax. I have it." Dora was getting increasingly frustrated at the way her mother in law kept interceding, as though she, their mother was incompetent.

"I don't know if Dora is coping with the children, Harmon," Ruth said over dinner that night. "I think she needs help," her voice raised at the end of her sentence as she voiced her concern.

"Ruth, you're somewhat excitable tonight."

"But the baby, Harmon, I'm worried about him."

"Now dear, he will be alright, Dora is an excellent mother, Henry will be perfectly safe."

"I don't think so, Sara is always touching him, playing with him, sitting on him. I'm worried she's going to hurt him one day and Dora has her hands full with the house. I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to our grandson. I think …"

Harmon watched her, only half listening, this was not the first time Ruth's imagination had gotten away from her. Perhaps a visit from the doctor was in order. The next day he paid Doctor Mustard a visit and told him about the latest occurrences. He was concerned that Ruth was over anxious about her grandson.

"Yes, I quite understand your concerns Mr Andrews. Perhaps a spell away might calm her down. I can take her now if you like," Doctor Mustard reassured Harmon.

"Do you think it's absolutely necessary?"

"Yes, I think you are right to be worried about her. She sounds quite hysterical. Leave it to me, I'll make the necessary arrangements. I shall come by your house later today."

A couple of hours later the doctor arrived at the Andrews' house with two attendants.

Harmon attempted to gently explain the situation to his wife. "Now dear, I think you need a little rest. Doctor Mustard has arranged everything. Don't make a fuss, dear. It's for the best, you've been a bit overwrought of late."

"Harmon? What are you talking about? I'm fine, I'm just fine."

Two burly men approached her with a special jacket. Ruth struggled to free herself, but they were too strong. In no time she was wearing the jacket and straps were tightened so she could not escape. She struggled against the constraints as she was forced into the carriage. "Harmon! Harmon!" Ruth shrieked. "Harmon, you can't do this to me Harmon! No no no…," her screams disappeared down the road. Harmon put his hands over his ears, she really was unwell.

* * *

The sinister walls of the asylum loomed over Ruth as they bundled her out of the carriage. She looked up at them with a shudder.

"Come along then," a nurse looked at her notes, "Ruth, is it?"

"I am Mrs Harmon Andrews," she replied imperiously, hoping this name would carry some weight.

"Nah, here you're just Ruth; come along with me." Ruth tried to bolt away, but her attendants took her by the shoulders and dragged her inside.

They walked her into the reception area. Distant screams could be heard echoing around the corridors. There was a stench of urine, faeces, despair and worst of all, fear. Brown walled corridors with regular spaced doors stretched into the distance. The place seemed to be populated with patients in thin cotton nightgowns and bare feet. Some were staring vacantly; some were moaning; some were rocking back and forth.

Now Ruth was really scared. Was Harmon really going to leave her _here?_

The men dragged her by the armpits into a bare room, ripped her clothes off her, dumped a bucket of cold water over her naked body and covered her with a thin shift. Next they dragged her to a small cell and dumped her on a grubby bed, securing her to it with strong straps. A last attendant stood over her, then bent over so she could count the hairs on his prickly chin and smell his sour breath. He stroked her cheek with one grubby fingernail then luxuriously and wetly licked her cheek. Standing up, he closed the door and left her there.

She was quite alone. Then the bed bugs appeared. That was when Ruth started to scream.

* * *

Mrs Harmon Andrews was missed at the next Ladies Aid meeting. The other ladies asked Dora about Ruth's whereabouts.

"She's gone away for a little vacation," Dora explained. "She was rather tired."

This was how Harmon had explained it to the family.

"Really, she never mentioned anything to me?" Mrs Bell exclaimed. "It must have been done in a rush?"

"Yes, I believe it was," Dora murmured. Truth be told, she had been rather shocked too. One day Mother Andrews was visiting and the next she was gone.

"Are you in touch with her at all?" Mrs Bell enquired, "please let her know I'm missing her."

"I'll tell her, thank you for your kind thoughts." Dora was being polite, she had no idea where Mother Andrews had disappeared to. She thought back to the conversation she and Ralph had had with Father Andrews the night before. Ralph had enquired as to his mother's whereabouts and Harmon had told him that he had sent her away for a rest. They knew she was unwell, she had been getting increasingly strident about Sara's relationship with her little brother, but Dora didn't think she needed a vacation.

"But where is she, Father?" Ralph pressed.

"She's fine, Ralph. There's no need for you to worry," Harmon evaded. "She's perfectly safe."

"Safe? Why would you say she's safe if she weren't in any danger? Father, where is Mother? Please give me a straight answer."

"Now son, I am your father. I know what's best for your mother. I have sent her away for a short vacation to rest. I spoke with the doctor and it's all the for the best. I don't want to talk about it anymore. She will return in due course, happier I am sure."

* * *

When Ruth did eventually return home, she was subdued. She seemed to have lost weight and stood in the hallway with her eyes cast downwards. Dora was shocked to see her looking so, what was the word? _Still_. Mother Andrews usually had opinions. She was always getting involved in her children's lives, but now she was quiet. Dora asked her how she was. In a small voice Mother Andrews replied, "I'm quite well, thank you."

"Shall we have some tea, Mother?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

They sat down on the sofa together, the children played on the floor. Little Henry was sitting up by now and Sara was just that little bit bigger. Ruth watched them play dispassionately, not even twitching when Sara barreled past her brother, knocking him sideways. Dora chided Sara and told her to be careful, glancing across at Ruth who sat quite still and made no comment. Where had she been, and why was she behaving so strangely?

Harmon walked into the room and saw the tableau. "Now, now dear, you know the doctor's orders. You're to stay in your room. No excitement now. We don't want you to get over-stimulated. Excuse us Dora, I'll be right back." Harmon took Ruth's arm and gently pulled her up off the sofa and led her out of the room.

Dora was shocked at the ease with which Harmon had removed Ruth from the room. Mother Andrews had made no noise as she was led away, not even a word of farewell. Dora could hear doors being opened and closed upstairs as she listened intently. Sara came over to give her a wooden block and she took it absentmindedly. Shortly afterwards, Father Andrews reappeared, "I'm sorry about that. I hope she behaved."

"Behaved? What do you mean?"

"Well, although she had a very nice, um, vacation. Mother Andrews is still in quite a delicate condition. The doctor believes she still has some recovering to do. We must all do our bit. She's to stay in her room for the time being. I don't know how she got out this afternoon."

"Father Andrews, is she being kept prisoner?"

"Prisoner? Goodness me no! Not at all, it's for her own good. I've put her back to bed. It's for the best," blustered Harmon in reply. It was proving hard work to keep Ruth safe, she did keep getting out, how he couldn't say. Perhaps it was time to find new servants? Ones who were not as sympathetic to his wife, tougher folk who would keep her safe from her wilder desires.

* * *

Dora told Marilla about it when she saw her next. "I think Father Andrews is keeping Mother prisoner."

"Prisoner? Whatever do you mean? How was her vacation?" Marilla enquired.

"I don't think she went on a proper vacation and she's come back changed."

Marilla scoffed, "changed? Well that's for the best isn't it. As I recall she was rather getting on your nerves beforehand, do you recall?"

"Yes, I do. But I don't think she's changed for the better. She's sort of gone away. It's as if she's not really there, or at least she's here, but her mind is elsewhere."

"I don't understand?" Marilla responded. "Can you describe what she's like?" Henry was starting to grizzle a little, so Marilla picked him up and jiggled him on her knee.

"I don't know how to put it. She's just sort of absent, passive. I wasn't with her for long."

"Passive, now there's a word I'd never use to describe Ruth Harmon," Marilla smiled.

"No, don't smile, Marilla. It's worrying me." Sara came over to her mother and Dora hugged her before she wandered off to play with the blocks.

"I'm sorry, Dora. What's worrying you?"

"It just doesn't feel right. Something's wrong. I don't like the way Father Andrews is treating her and I don't like the way he's closing down any discussion about the situation."

"Hmm. Is there anything we can do?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I just wish... Oh I don't know? Maybe I'm over-reacting."

"I'm sure she will be fine, dear," Henry was really getting upset now, he started to arc back in Marilla's arms. "You better take him, perhaps he's hungry?"

* * *

Dora spoke to Ralph about it that evening, "I'm worried about your mother, Ralph. Have you spoken with her?"

"We had a small chat."

"What did you think?"

Ralph sipped his coffee, remembering how his mother used to be. "She's ... different."

"She is. Do you know where she went? Did your father tell you, did she tell you?"

"No, he's never said, and she didn't say either. Do you know anything?"

"No. I don't think she went on a vacation though."

"You don't?"

"At least, not anywhere nice."

Ralph reflected on his mother's recent demeanour, "No, I think you might be right. Where do you think she went then?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. I can't imagine your father sending her anywhere too ghastly."

"Hmm." Ralph wasn't so sure his father did have a ruthless streak at times.

At church that week, Mrs Bell enquired about Ruth once again. Dora truthfully told her than her mother in law was home from vacation but was still resting.

"Resting? Why does she need rest?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. Father Andrews just said she was still recovering."

"Recovering? What is going on?"

Dora had no answer to give. She was unsure herself.

* * *

Up in her room. Ruth had nothing to do, no knitting, no crochet, even the windows had been blackened to stop the view. The Doctor had left strict directions that she was to lie in her bed and allowed to get up only to use the chamber pot, nothing else. Novels were considered too stimulating, as was conversation. She had been released from the asylum on the contingency that she be kept completely quiet. To say that she was bored was completely under estimating her situation. She was terribly relieved to be out of the asylum. At least the servants did not abuse her, but as desperately as she tried to engage them in conversation they would not reply. If she had not been mad before, and she was sure she had not been, maybe a little anxious, but far from mad. She could feel her sanity slipping away now.

When the same bland meal was delivered on a tray; different food was considered too stimulating; she tried to engage the servant in conversation. Asking desperately how her family fared, what the weather was like, when she might be freed, but it was as if the woman was deaf, for all the attention she paid her. She would not even look Ruth in the eye, but merely placed the tray on the side table and left, locking the door behind her.

Ruth tried to keep her brain active, playing simple word games or counting the flowers in the wallpaper, but it was so hard. She acted out long conversations with herself, trying to recall the plots of the novels she used to read with such abandon. She tried to waste time by sleeping, but there was only so much sleeping she could do, especially without any exercise. Left alone all night, she saw things; things that scared her, causing her to shriek in fright.

Harmon had a peek hole drilled in the door, so he could keep an eye on her. Her crazed conversations with herself worried him. Rather than improving, Ruth seemed to be getting worse. If she did not recover soon, Harmon was worried another stint in the asylum would be required. He missed his wife, he missed her company and he missed her in his bed.

After Ruth had been home about a month, Harmon asked the doctor about the resumption of marital relations. The doctor looked at him, stroking his beard. "Hmm, well perhaps that is not such a bad idea, Mr Andrews. There has been some research on the matter, sometimes a wandering womb can cause the sort of hysteria your wife has been experiencing. Marital relations can help the problem. I say it's worth a try, but while I want to stimulate her womb, I do not want to over stimulate her brain. I think we might give her some laudanum first."

That night, Harmon entered her room for the first time in weeks. Ruth was laying in the bed, asleep. He looked at her. She was not looking as beautiful as she once did. Her face was haggard, and her body was thin, but he loved her all the same. She was unconscious, the drugs had done their work. He crawled onto the bed and lifted her nightgown. Afterwards he felt relief and hoped it had done her some good too. The doctor assured him that it might help her wandering womb, perhaps in time, she would come back to him.


	38. Chapter 38 Falling

_Well I certainly got a reaction with my last chapter. I had warned a few people they'd feel sorry for Mrs Harmon by the end._

 _Thank you for reading and reviewing._

* * *

 _Avonlea_

 _Dear Gilbert,_

 _I am writing to you as a medical professional, rather than as my brother in law._

 _As you know I've been having some problems with Mother Andrews this year, you kindly gave me some advice when she was overly concerned with Sara and putting doubts into my mind._

 _Well it seems she had been having some problems herself and Father Andrews decided, along with Dr. Mustard that Mother Andrews could do with a spell away to settle her anxiety._

 _Gilbert, I never thought I'd say this about her, but I'm now worried about Mother Andrews. She was away for about six weeks, and has returned home, but when I saw her the other week, she was a shell of her former self._

 _I don't know where she had been sent away to. Neither she nor Father Andrews will say, but something is not right. Gilbert, if you have an overwrought patient, where do they get sent?_

 _She is home now, but I'm still concerned for her. I think Father Andrews is keeping her a prisoner in her own home. I did see her briefly and it seemed, I don't know quite how to put it, as though she wasn't really there. Father Andrews took her away shortly after and she followed him up the stairs and I fancy I heard a door lock before he returned. Maybe it is my imagination, but it sounded like she was being kept a prisoner._

 _I don't know what to do, it just doesn't seem right._

 _With fondest love_

 _Dora Andrews_

 _/ . / . / . / . / ._

 _Glen St Mary_

 _Dearest Dora_

 _I cannot comment upon the specifics of Mrs Andrews case, not only am I ignorant, but it would be unethical even if I did know anything._

 _I am sure that wherever Mrs Andrews was sent, she received the very best of care._

 _I remain your favourite brother in law,_

 _Gilbert Blythe_

Professional solidarity prevented him from saying anything to Dora, but Gilbert was uneasy. He had heard disturbing complaints about the Charlottetown Asylum which is where he sometimes sent his patients and endeavoured never to send any but his most intractable patients. He hardly thought Mrs Harmon was in that category, based on what Dora had reported to him about her behaviour previously. She might have been rather overwrought, but hardly insane.

If, as Dora intimated, Mrs Andrews was getting the 'quiet treatment', her sanity must be in question.

* * *

Rachel and the minister's wife Mrs Wilcox had come to tea at Green Gables, they were due a good chat. Since the weather was so lovely, Marilla decided to make the most of the warmth and serve it outside in the shade of the cherry tree. John left the ladies to it and rode to town to pick up the mail and pop into the mercantile.

Marilla was balancing the teapot, the side plates, the teacups and the biscuits on a heavily-laden tray, something about the arrangement was slightly off kilter today, which she picked up on as soon as she lifted it, she hesitated, getting her balance back.

Rachel called out, "everything all right there Marilla?"

"Yes, it's fine. I'll just be a moment."

Marilla backed away from the table and pivoted around to walk towards the back door. Then setting one foot in front of the other she made her way out to Rachel and Mrs Wilcox who were waiting patiently at the table set up in the shade. The door was open, so that was easy enough, but the ground was a bit uneven and of course, since she was carrying the tray, Marilla couldn't see exactly where she was going.

There was a slight dip in the path and without warning her ankle gave way and from there time went in slow motion; it was as if she were looking down from above watching herself fall. She tried to save the precious tea set, the one with the rosebuds that her mother had bequeathed to her all those years ago; paid for by the money from their very first harvest.

She had been upright and now suddenly she became closely acquainted with the lawn. It was longer than it should have been and the most incredible shade of green. She stared at it intently as though there were nothing else in the world as important. There was the green and then there was the pain; as her senses adjusted to their new situation. She came to lying on top of broken crockery with a very sore arm and hot water scalding her leg.

Rachel and Mrs Wilcox rushed over to see Marilla lying in the middle of the mess. "Mama's tea set," was all Marilla said, as tears pooled in her eyes.

"Never mind that, let's get you sorted out, dear," Rachel offered, she bent down to help Marilla to her feet, but Marilla cried out in pain. "What is it, where do you hurt?" Rachel asked quickly.

"Ow, my arm, my arm. Ow it hurts so!"

"Oh, Marilla." Rachel stood back up and assessed the situation. Marilla was lying face down, the broken crockery had cut her face, and it was obvious she had hurt her arm. Still she couldn't stay down there all day.

"All right, gently now, this will hurt, I'm afraid." Rachel and Mrs Wilcox gently turned Marilla over onto her back. Marilla cried out with the pain. At least at the end of it, she was facing the right way up and they could assess the damage.

"Is the teapot … all right?" Marilla asked, with a catch in her voice.

"The teapot?" Rachel was perplexed.

"Yes, Mama's teapot. Is it unbroken."

Of all things to worry about, "no dear, it's broken," Rachel replied sadly.

"Oh."

"I'll buy you a new one, I know that's not good enough. I do understand."

"No. Mama bought it when they first arrived here in Canada." Marilla tried to get herself into a sitting position, but she was too shaky, raising her head made her feel dizzy.

"Just stay down there for a bit longer. You've had a jolt. I'll help you up in a little bit," Mrs Wilcox advised.

The ladies conferred amongst themselves as to the best course of action. Rachel was unwilling to move Marilla, so she stayed sitting with her on the ground, surrounded as they were with broken tea things. Mrs Wilcox left them there and went to ring the doctor.

It had been a long while since Marilla had lain on her back for such a long time. It wasn't particularly comfortable. The ground was damp and she thought there were probably a few pieces of broken crockery under her. In addition the damp grass and spilt tea were making her cold even in the sunshine. "Rachel," Marilla softly called.

"Yes, what is it, dear?"

"Could you fetch me a blanket, please? I'm getting a bit cold down here."

"Of course, I'll just be a moment."

The blanket made her feel much more comfortable, or warmer at least. She could just make out Rachel and Mrs Wilcox conferring amongst themselves. They were worried about making things worse if they moved her. Marilla was helpless, so she just lay back and watched the clouds pass overhead. Somewhere far off a bird was calling, funny she didn't usually notice the birdlife. There was a stillness about laying there.

John returned home and was shocked to find them on the lawn together. Rachel hurried over and explained the situation adding that she had been unable to move Marilla and how worried she was.

Kneeling down, John examined Marilla. "Are you all right my love?"

"I tripped over, I've broken the teapot and I think, perhaps my arm too."

"Well, I'll get you back up on your feet. Rachel was finding that a bit difficult, weren't you?" John glanced up at Rachel and Mrs Wilcox for affirmation.

"Yes, dear. We couldn't manage it by ourselves."

John lifted her to her feet and gently held her by the waist, as they walked her back inside and they sat her down on the sofa. John knelt down to remove her shoes and she swung her legs over across the cushions. While they were waiting for the doctor to arrive, Rachel fetched some water and they bathed Marilla's face, wiping the blood away.

The doctor arrived after a while and Mrs Wilcox took her leave saying that she would return in a couple of days. Marilla described what had happened and Rachel filled in the rest. Doctor Mustard examined her all over, checking her arm, her head and the rest of her body. She was badly bruised under her clothes having landed heavily. "Mrs Blythe, I'm afraid we're going to have to cut your dress off.

"Oh dear, I do like this dress. Can't you manage it any other way?"

"No, I don't think so. I can't think of a way to get the dress off this arm without causing you terrible agony ."

Sadly, Marilla watched as they cut the dress, at least they cut it along the seams, so she could sew it back up afterwards.

"Now, I just want to examine your arm, tell me if …?"

"Ouch! Oh, that hurts." Marilla sucked in her breath and went pale.

"Mrs Blythe I'm going to have to reset your arm first and then I'll put it in some plaster of paris. Mr Blythe I'll need some hot water and also some cold."

While they were waiting, the doctor sat on the bed and had a chat with Marilla, "It must have been a nasty fall?"

"Yes, I was carrying the tray and I tripped over on the way to the table and I broke my mother's teapot. I think I'm sorrier about that than I am about this," Marilla nodded at her arm.

"I can understand, your arm will mend in time, but the teapot is irreplaceable."

"That's right. I can't buy a new one with the same history."

"We should do this in your bedroom, can you walk Mrs Blythe?" Gingerly Marilla stood up, feeling quite woozy and dizzy. The doctor caught her as she staggered. "You'll probably feel a bit unsteady since you can't use your arm to balance yourself. You will get used to that after a couple of days."

He called to John to give him a hand. "I think we might just carry her into the bedroom. Better than having her swoon. Now, I'm going to knock you out with some ether, Mrs Blythe."

"Is that necessary?"

"Well unless you want to be awake while I reset your arm? Trust me, you don't want that."

The doctor applied a few drops and they watched as Marilla's eyes rolled back in her head as she fell fast asleep. John shuddered and the doctor glanced back up at him, "I know it's disconcerting. She will be fine though."

He had John help as he pulled her arm straight and reset the bones, then they bent it at the elbow. Once they had the arm in place, the doctor applied the plaster of Paris, it was rather messy, so Rachel cleaned Marilla up afterwards.

"How much longer will she be out?"

"A little while yet. I gave her a good dose because I didn't want her waking up in the middle. I'll sit with her while she sleeps. Do you think I could have a cup of tea?"

John laughed, "if you had asked for any other thing."

"Oh, of course. Well, water then."

* * *

Marilla came to about an hour later feeling quite unwell. The doctor was well used to the reaction and had a bowl at the ready. Marilla was sick in it and he wiped her chin afterwards. "I'm sorry," Marilla apologised.

"Not at all, it's a common reaction to the ether," Doctor Mustard reassured her. "Now how do you feel?"

Marilla considered her situation for a moment, "I feel like I'm trussed up like the Christmas turkey."

"That sounds about right. Does it hurt?"

"It's achy and still pretty sore."

"I would expect so. The acute pain will settle down after a while. I'm going to give you some laudanum to help you sleep, Mrs Blythe. I'll be back in a couple of days to see how you're getting on," Doctor Mustard stood up and patted her on the shoulder before walking out.

"I can't thank you enough for your help, Doctor," John said as he fumbled for some money.

Keep an eye on her, please and I'll see you soon. She's going to need a great deal of help." He dipped his hat at John and Rachel and made his own way out.

"I'll be on my way too, John. Unless you'd like me to stay on for a while?"

"Do you mind staying? I'll get us some tea, oh."

"What?"

"The teapot," John said with a rueful grin.

"Ah yes, the teapot. How could I forget? Do you have another one hiding somewhere?"

"I'm not sure, she only uses that one. I'll have a rummage in the store room, just in case. I expect Marilla would like a tea too." John walked out to have a look.

"It's not going to be easy," Rachel called out to him.

"Easy?" John called back "Aha! I found one." He walked out carrying the spare teapot.

"Caring for her. She's going to be quite disabled," Rachel explained.

"Oh yes, I hadn't thought about it at all. She won't be able to do any housework," he poured the hot water into the pot and swirled it around to heat it first. Pouring that water away, he made the tea under Rachel's watchful eye. Once that was poured he took a cup into Marilla who was still looking a bit woozy in bed. "Here you go darling. I'll be back in a moment."

"Please don't go John."

"Of course not, I'll stay." John sat on the edge of the bed.

"Will you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? What on earth for?"

"For being so silly."

"Silly? What do you mean?"

"Falling over like that. It was so foolish of me."

"Dearest," replied John fondly, picking Marilla's unbroken hand up, "I don't recall any recriminations from you when I broke my leg the other year."

"Well it was slippery, that's different."

"No, it's not different. This was another accident. I'll be here. I'll look after you."

"It's not going to be easy. I've been thinking of all the things you need two hands for."

"You'll have to put up with my cooking," John grinned. "That'll be the worst of it."

"Oh dear," Marilla mimed choking.

"Indeed. I'll just see Rachel out, and then I'll be back for you my love."

"Please thank her for helping me."

Rachel poked her head in the doorway. "Oh, Rachel, I want to thank you. If it wasn't for you and Mrs Wilcox I'd still be investigating the grass outside. It's remarkably green, did you know?"

John saw Rachel out the door, thanking her for all her assistance. Truth be told the more he thought about it, the more terrified he was. He was in for a busy couple of months.


	39. Chapter 39 Kid Gloves

_As has been pointed out, the scary thing about this time is that the doctor is simultaneously the mean guy who might incarcerate you AND the nice guy you gives you ether before setting your broken arm. And society is perfectly fine with that._

* * *

 **Kid Gloves**

 _"Have you got that, love?"_

 _"Let me do it for you."_

 _"Here I'll do that."_

 _"I'll just brush your hair."_

 _"I'll tie up your stays."_

 _"I'll do up those buttons for you."_

 _"Give me the knife, I'll chop that."_

 _"Here I'll just cut up your food."_

 _"Do you need a hand?"_

 _"Let me."_

 _"I'll do it."_

John was helpful in a myriad of ways and it drove Marilla crazy. The worst thing was, he was right. Marilla was as helpless as a little bird with one wing shot out. That didn't make it any less infuriating. Try as she might to keep her temper; the next time he helped her, she was sure she was going to snap.

The only saving grace was that Marilla could still write her diary.

Originally Marilla had been left handed, but such a transgression was forbidden by her school master. He would tie her left hand behind her back and beat her when her letters were badly formed. The pen felt so foreign at first, as though she were directing someone else to form the letters on her behalf. The master would tap her knuckles, just a little sting to make her concentrate as she would carefully write out the letters of the alphabet. It felt so very wrong.

Now finally years later, with her right hand out of action, the pen felt at home in her left hand again. John was surprised to see her writing so easily. She glanced up at him, furiously writing out her frustration.

* * *

Dora read through Gilbert's letter to her one more time. No, something was not right about the situation, his words did not comfort her. She decided to ask the advice of an older woman and chose Mother Andrew's best friend, Mrs Bell. Dora always found the two of them quite an intimidating pair, but believed that despite her trepidation, she had to do the right thing by her mother in law.

It was a cloudy summer day, Dora put on her hat and best visiting clothes and walked over to Mrs Bell, using the time to practice her script. The Bell's house was a well built, double story brick mansion in the centre of town. Its magnificent portico rose above the door, in a way that said 'we are wealthy, behave yourself'. Dora took a deep breath and rapped on the door with the door handle three times. There was movement inside and shortly after a young maid the door. "Yes ma'am?"

"Er, good morning, may I speak with Mrs Bell?" Dora stammered out, feeling quite apprehensive.

"Who may I say is calling?"

"I'm Mrs Andrews, the young Mrs Andrews," she clarified.

"Please come in," Dora did so and stood in the hallway, "Excuse me, I'll just go and fetch Mrs Bell," the maid explained and left Dora standing in the hallway with the wide round staircase curving its way up to the second floor. Portraits of the Bell ancestors adorned the walls.

"Mrs Andrews," Mrs Bell welcomed Dora, "how lovely to see you, dear. Come in, will you take tea? Matilda, don't just stand there, fetch us some tea," she ordered the maid. "Is there any news of your mother in law?"

"That's what I've come to talk to you about." Dora followed Mrs Bell into their parlor and sat down on an overstuffed couch.

"Tell me? Have you seen her?" Mrs Bell probed.

Dora perched on the couch and proceeded to explain what had happened when she spied Mother Andrews "I have briefly. She seemed quiet."

"I'm sure."

"No, it wasn't that. She seemed distant, like she wasn't really there. Shortly afterwards Father Andrews turned up and took her upstairs. Mrs Bell I'm worried about her."

"Worried? I'm sure Harmon is looking after her."

"Hmm," Dora thought through the best way to explain it, "I think Father Andrews is keeping her prisoner. I can't be sure, but I think I heard locks being turned upstairs, and we haven't seen her since. Have you heard from her?"

"No, I have been expecting a note from her, but I've received nothing. Perhaps she is upset?"

"I wouldn't blame her Mrs Bell, if you walk around the outside of the house, you can see that the blinds are always down, and I'm pretty sure her bedroom door is locked. I'm not sure she can write to you. Father Andrews said they're keeping her quiet."

Mrs Bell looked shocked at that, "What do you mean quiet?"

Dora hesitated, she could hear a cow lowing outside, with a sigh she replied "No one seems to understand. I am pretty sure Father Andrews is keeping her a prisoner in her own home. No one is allowed to see her, not even Ralph and me. You're her closest friend, Mrs Bell and you've had no contact with her since she's been back. It's over a month now and she's just been holed up in that room by herself. Doesn't any of that concern you?"

Mrs Bell looked at Dora, thinking furiously, "if it were me…"

"Would you want to be sequestered?"

"I would not. What do you think we should do?"

"The thing is, if we rescue her, where can she stay? I'd have her at my house, but the children are noisy and…"

"She can stay here with me. I'll care for her. I've got Matilda, the two of us can manage. She is, as you say, my closest friend. When shall we go?"

"Oh goodness," Mrs Bell reacted faster than Dora had expected.

"I suppose we can go now. We might need a man to help us with the door and her trunk. She will probably be quite stunned when we burst in."

"What if Harmon tries to stop us?"

"Father Andrews is out for the day. Ralph and he went to Carmody to conduct some business matters."

"Then it's a perfect day. I say strike while the iron is hot. I'll just fetch my serving man to help us."

As they drove away in the Bell's carriage, Hank, the serving man driving, Mrs Bell whispered to Dora "This is quite exciting isn't it? I've never rescued someone before."

Dora smiled weakly, she hoped it would be all right, but she was happy someone had believed her.

When they arrived at the Andrews' house, the place looked deserted. They walked into the hallway and Mrs Bell called out to Mrs Andrews, but there was no answer. "Let's go upstairs.

A dark haired woman dressed in a nurses uniform was sitting on a straight-backed chair by a door in the first corridor, she rose to challenge them, "Just who are you and what are you doing here?"

"We have come to visit Mrs Andrews."

"She's sleeping. You can't disturb her."

"I would like to see for myself," Mrs Bell commanded.

Dora was impressed, Mrs Bell really did sound domineering, she would have opened the door had she a key; but the servant did not quail, she stood her ground and refused to let them in.

Mrs Bell turned to Hank saying, "right then."

With one almighty kick, the door was hanging off one hinge and they could see in. The room was gloomy, very little light could enter through the blacked-out window. A figure cowered on the bed. Mrs Bell and Dora rushed over to find Ruth in tears, shielding her eyes from the sudden bright light, and comforted her. Dora explained why they were there, while Mrs Bell rushed around picking up some clothes from the bureau and the closet, stuffing them into a trunk.

Mrs Bell directed Hank to lift Ruth up, but she shrieked in fear. Dora tried to placate her, telling her that it would be all right, but Ruth would not be comforted. She seemed happy to walk out the door, however. Mrs Bell and Dora walked alongside her. She paused over the doorway and looked back at her room with a shudder, then the ladies escorted her downstairs, Hank bringing up the rear carrying her trunk.

The carriage stood outside, and they climbed in and put the shades down to protect Ruth and keep the light away. The whole thing had taken only ten minutes or so. No one spoke, they were all in shock. Dora and Mrs Bell because it had all been so easy and Ruth because it had all been so hard.

Once they arrived back at the Bell house, they ushered Ruth inside and Mrs Bell introduced her to Matilda explaining that Mrs Andrews would be staying for a while. Matilda scurried away to make up the spare bed, while the ladies followed more slowly. Ruth seemed to be in disbelief at the change in her circumstances. She sat on the bed and watched in a daze as Dora and Mrs Bell sorted out her clothing.

"You're going to stay with me for a while," Mrs Bell explained.

Dora added "do you need anything, Mother Andrews?"

Ruth shook her head. She just needed some time to adjust.

Mrs Bell was loath to leave her on her own, "I'll just ask Matilda to fetch us some tea, will you two be all right together?"

Dora nodded that they would be fine. "Are you well, Mother Andrews, can I do anything for you?"

Ruth slowly turned her head towards Dora, a single tear traced down her cheek and she roughly wiped it away. She sighed and rubbed her eyes with her fingers. "May I bathe?" she asked quietly, "I feel unclean."

"I'm sure that can be arranged. We'll ask Mrs Bell when she reappears."

"Thank you," her mother in law replied. "Dora."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? What have you to be sorry for?" Dora was genuinely confused.

"I'm sorry I over reacted with the children, I was out of line. I was just worried is all. But I ... I, shouldn't have behaved in that manner. I am sorry." Mother Andrews sounded a little frantic, so Dora placed her hand over her mother in law's and patted it gently.

"It's fine. It's all water under the bridge."

"Mrs Bell," Dora said when she appeared, "Mother Andrews would like a bath, please."

"Of course, Ruth. I'll just get Matilda to draw one for you. It will take a little while, while we get the water heated." Mrs Bell backed out of the room.

* * *

A week later, Marilla was still frustrated at the situation at home, John was still hovering and treating her like an infant. One morning she just decided to stay in bed, it was easier that way. John woke after her and was surprised to find her still in bed. "Mar?"

"G'way." Marilla shuffled further over to the side of the bed, away from him.

"What is it Mar?"

There was no reply.

"Talk to me Mar."

Silence

"I'll fetch some breakfast."

Marilla lay in the bed, she was frustrated, angry, depressed. Whenever she made a move to do anything, anything at all, John intervened. She felt small and helpless. There was no point in getting out of bed, because she was useless anyway. John brought her up a cup of tea, but it sat on the bedside table until it was stone cold. When he brought up some breakfast half an hour later, he found it there still, untouched. "What is it Marilla? What can I do?"

Silence.

John got dressed slowly, glancing back her way throughout. "Have I made you angry about something? I'm confused. I thought I was helping."

Marilla rolled over onto her stomach and clumsily threw the covers over her head with her left hand. Seeing that he was not welcome, John finished dressing in silence and went out to attend to the chores. On his way out he turned to the mound that was Marilla and said gently "Well, I still love you." There was no response.

Later that morning Dora came by to see how they were faring and to bring a stew around; she and Millie were catering for Marilla and John while Marilla was out of action. She found John nursing a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, but Marilla was nowhere to be seen. "Good morning John. How are you? Where's Marilla?"

"I'm confused and Marilla is still in bed."

"Why? What's happened?"

"I honestly have no idea, I got up this morning and she wouldn't talk to me," John explained, scratching his head.

"Do you want me to go and have a chat with her?"

"I don't know? I don't know what I've done? All I know is we're both miserable."

Dora left him there, and took a cup of tea up. Marilla was laying in bed staring up at the ceiling. Dora knocked gently at the door and walked in setting the tea down on the table. "Is he upset?" Marilla asked flatly.

"He is."

"Hmm," Marilla still hadn't looked at Dora.

Dora gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed. The bed covers were messed up and Marilla lay there looking uncomfortable with her arm in the plaster cast. "Does it still hurt?" Dora gesticulated at her arm.

"It's achy, not too sore. And itchy, terribly itchy. It's driving me crazy."

"Marilla?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is John looking sorry in the kitchen?"

"John's looking sorry! I can't talk about it."

"Marilla, this isn't like you."

"Hmph, I think it's very like me."

Dora thought back to any other time Marilla was struck low with a migraine and on reflection decided she was right. Marilla never liked to be thought of as weak, and lashed out at anyone who was in the way when she was in pain, it was her typical response to personal weakness, and this was no exception. "Actually, that's true isn't it."

Marilla's bright blue eyes flashed in her direction. "What are you implying?"

"You hate to look vulnerable, and you take that out on the people you love."

"I do not!'

"Yes, you do. You've always done it. Davy and I knew to avoid you when you were recovering from a migraine."

Marilla turned away again looking at the crack in the wall that she had meant to ask John to fix.

"Anyway, enough of that. I want you to come with me today," Dora ordered.

"Come with you? Where?"

"We're going to visit Mother Andrews. She's been at Mrs Bell's for a few days now. I want to know how she's getting on."

"Mrs Andrews and I have never seen eye to eye," Marilla countered.

"No, but you will come with me regardless. She needs all the support she can get." Dora walked over to Marilla's closet and turning her head back, asked "what would you like to wear today?"

* * *

Marilla found herself sitting in the Bell's spotless parlour with Mrs Andrews. The other ladies were elsewhere in the house.

She didn't know what to say to the woman. She knew Ruth had been having problems and that she had been away and that Dora was worried.

"I'm so terribly sorry," Marilla offered.

"Please don't offer sympathy. Please just treat me like normal. I can't stand it, I can't stand being... being ..."

"... treated with kid gloves?" Marilla offered.

"Exactly. How did you know?"

Marilla glanced at her broken arm. "John is always hovering over me. I know he means well, but it's infuriating. I'm slower with this, but hardly useless. I just wish he'd give me a chance." She sighed, "I'm wicked to speak like this. He's so generous with his time and so loving but..."

"…But he's driving you _crazy_ " said Mrs Andrews with an ironic laugh.

"Exactly," Marilla would have baulked at the use of that particular word, but as it was Mrs Andrews using it…

"I feel the same. Mrs Bell is lovely to look after me, but they're all tip-toeing around me. Yes, I've been struggling. No, I am not mad. Or I wasn't until they put me away."

"Was it very terrible?"

"Mrs Blythe what I went through would make your toes curl."

"Really?" Marilla was shocked to hear

"They stripped me bare, took away my name, gave me cold baths, abused me, kept me in solitary confinement which I thought was the worst, until I was put in with the general population. There are some genuinely frightening people in there. Some are restrained but others wander about with little supervision. I was in fear of my life most of the time." It was her dispassionate telling that was most chilling to Marilla, as though it were the most normal thing in the world when disturbed folk wandered about abusing people with impunity.

"Oh, my goodness."

"Yes, but if you offer me sympathy I'll break. I need to keep strong d'you see. If I drop, I might never climb out."

"May I just hold your hand then, for support?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

When the guard molested her for the first time Ruth had survived by taking her _self_ , her soul somewhere else, away from her body. She had used this trick increasingly often. Now Ruth felt like she was floating above earth unable to return, but there was something about the older woman's hard, red, work-weathered hand that had a solidity about it that brought her back.

The women sat in the parlour while out in the kitchen they could hear clinking as Mrs Bell and the maid put the tea things together and murmuring as Mrs Bell directed the maid. Marilla looked around the room, there were more doilies than she was comfortable with, spreading out over every surface as though naked table tops were too salacious.

"It seems to me that you are a warrior Mrs Andrews," Marilla mused.

"A warrior? Whatever do you mean?"

"You are very strong."

"I hardly think so," Ruth replied with a rueful smile.

"No. You are. You have fought for your own sanity against tremendous odds. And I will report that you are winning."

Mrs Blythe, that is without a doubt the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, thank you."

"It is absolutely true to my way of thinking," Marilla asserted.

There was a pause as both ladies took stock of the situation. Marilla noticed with interest that there was an oil stain on the antimacassar placed on the back of what she presumed was Mr Bell's armchair. She'd noticed that Mr Bell wore Macassar oil in his hair, he was perhaps a bit too old to do it still, it was something she identified with young dandies.

Marilla broke the silence, "You and I have had our differences over the years."

"Yes, that's true."

"And we've never been what you would call close."

"No."

"But I think we have more in common than we've ever admitted." Mrs Andrews clutched Marilla's hand tightly. "So, if you need another warrior to join you in the battle…"

"I would like that very much. Marilla?"

"Yes?"

"May I tell you if I feel I'm faltering. It's ... difficult sometimes."

"Yes, please do Ruth, we all need someone to confide in."

"And you, um, you won't divulge that information?"

"No Ruth. If you want me to keep a confidence rest assured I will."

"Because I know how strong your relationship with Mrs Lynde is."

"Oh yes, I understand your hesitation. No fear, I have been refraining from spilling all my secrets to Rachel Lynde for more than fifty years, I have plenty of practice in that department."

A tear snaked down Ruth's cheek. As much as she desperately wanted to, Marilla did not pull her in for a hug. Based on their conversation that was not desired and with her broken arm, physically impossible anyway, but she continued to hold Ruth's hand firmly and they stayed that way until Mrs Bell brought in the tea.

Emma Bell paused imperceptibly when she and the maid appeared with the tea tray. It was an odd sight, seeing Mrs Blythe and her old friend, Ruth Andrews holding hands on the sofa, but she rallied.

When Dora arrived asking her to help with Ruth's rescue, she had reacted without thinking, but now that Ruth was actually staying with her, Emma was realising that she really was not well. Whether it was as a result of her incarceration first at the asylum and then latterly in her own home; or whether it had been going on for longer, Emma was unsure, but it was certainly true that her friend was suffering. Each night she woke the household with her nightmares. They were upsetting her husband, Malcolm, and he was making pointed comments about how it was time Ruth went home. Emma could not do that to her friend until she was ready, but she could not stay with them forever.

Emma chatted about this and that, never really engaging Ruth, but being very caring and sweet. Something felt a bit off about it all as far as Marilla was concerned. Mrs Bell had to leave them to it again, as she had something in the oven. Marilla turned to Ruth saying "I see what you mean."

"It is, it's just…"

"She doesn't seem to be really talking _to_ you."

"She's skirting the issue. She's never asked me what it was like. Like you did just now."

"She might be frightened by the answer."

"Yes," Ruth replied sadly.

"Do you want me to say something?"

"Do you think you could? I don't want her to feel like I'm ungrateful."

"Certainly, I could. I'll just pop out there now, if you'll excuse me."

Mrs Bell was standing by the oven, the kitchen was well appointed, fitted out with the latest modern conveniences, it even had an ice chest in the corner, but somehow to Marilla it lacked something, a soul perhaps. It was painted a severe white, even the floor boards were white, and was spotlessly clean, not that Marilla could fault that. The kitchen was a stark difference to the over stuffed parlour.

"Ah Mrs Bell, might I have a word?"

"Certainly Mrs Blythe, is anything the matter?"

"No, at least not exactly. I want to have a quick word with you about Ruth."

"I do feel so sorry for her. I hope she is happy here."

"She is. It's just, well, she needs to have the space to talk. I don't have much experience in this sort of thing of course, but I did have Anne with me when she was young, as you know. "She had to talk too, though she seldom mentioned her time before joining us, but reading between the lines she had a dreadful life, little details would come out at the oddest moments."

"Yes?"

"Yes, Mrs Bell needs to feel safe to talk to you."

"She's had a bad time."

"It has been beyond our imagining."

"I don't want to rake up bad memories."

"I do understand, but she needs to be able to speak to someone about them. She has not forgotten anything. It's all very recent, remember. Mind now," Marilla warned Mrs Bell, "you have to listen, but not react. You might feel like crying when she recounts her experience, but you must not."

"Why?"

"Because she'll worry that she's upsetting you and close down. That doesn't help anyone. If you need to cry, do it afterwards, or come and visit me."

"I'm made of stern stuff, Mrs Blythe."

"I'm sure you are, but I think even you might be in tears by the end."

"Has she told you anything?"

"A little and it made my blood freeze. She asked me not to offer her too much comfort. If she starts crying, she fears she may never stop."

"Surely Mr Andrews wouldn't send her anywhere dangerous?"

"I doubt Mr Andrews has a clue what went on there. If he did, he wouldn't have, I'm sure. It sounds just terrible. There were mad people wandering around molesting anyone they could get their hands on."

Mrs Andrew's hand flew to her mouth. "Do you think she's been violated?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, but she was in fear all the time she was there."

* * *

It was the wee sma's again, Ruth had woke the house up with yet another nightmare. They happened most nights now. Emma didn't dare call the doctor for he was part of the problem. She hurried down the corridor to offer what comfort she could. She found Ruth sitting up in bed sobbing, the tears streaming down her face. She sat down next to her and said, "Ruth, Ruth talk to me, please tell me what it was like."

Ruth turned her dark eyes towards her friend, but it was apparent she was not actually looking at her, rather through her to a scene played out in her mind.

"You know, much as I feared the inmates, and I did fear them," she stated dispassionately, "the guards were just as frightening. There was one, a giant of man with a port wine stain down the left half of his face. He liked to watch me in bed. He would stand by my open door. I could see him through slit eyes, as I pretended to be asleep. He would be stroking his moustache and breathing through his mouth, he had terrible breath. Sometimes he would wander over and stroke down the side of my cheek, very gently with one fingernail. I would be so frightened I'd wet myself."

"Did he? Did he?" Emma stammered.

"Molest me? No, I don't think so. Sometimes they knocked me out, maybe then. I don't know. I'd rather not know."

* * *

Over the dinner supplied by Dora that night, Marilla was silent, lost in thought. John looked over the candle to her as she ate the stew pensively. Sensibly Dora had cut the meat up quite small knowing Marilla was unable to manage it herself. "What's up? Mar? You're quiet tonight."

"What? Oh, sorry," Marilla came out of her reverie with a start. "My apologies."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Well it can't be nothing, you haven't spoken since I dished up the dinner."

"It's just I saw Ruth Andrews at Mrs Bell's today."

"How is she?"

"Sad, she's sad."

"I'm still not sure you should have stolen her from her husband."

"Oh?" She looked at him with her steely stare. John knew he was in trouble now, Marilla only used that tone and look when he was treading on thin ice.

"Yes, I expect Harmon is on the warpath. He won't be best pleased that she's gone. He was caring for her."

"Caring!" snorted Marilla. "That's not my definition of care." She focused away from John, to stare at the candle flame flickering between them. "Do you know where she was sent?" Marilla continued icily. "Do you have any idea what she went through?"

"Well no, of course I don't. No one's told me anything," John retorted, defensive now.

"If you knew anything, you wouldn't make any assumptions. She hasn't told me much, but what she said was abominable."

"Such as?"

"Well, such as dangerous mad people wandering around the halls of the asylum in a state of half undress, attacking all and sundry. Or others chained to the wall rocking back and forth in a mental agony. At night the bed bugs came out and tortured her in other ways."

"She's exaggerating surely."

"I don't think so, not from the way she told it."

"Surely there were staff to protect her," John questioned.

"Sounds like they were just as bad," Marilla explained.

"But Harmon brought her home."

"Oh, yes, caring Harmon brought her back home to incarcerate her in her room. Lucky Ruth."

"Mar?"

"Mmm."

"Why were you so upset this morning. What have I been doing wrong?"

"It's just, I don't know. You're treating me like an infant. I'm not completely useless you know."

"I never said you were."

"No, but you imply it every day. If I need help, I'll ask for it."

John smiled, "it's frustrating to watch you struggle."

"Well, not nearly as frustrating as it is to do it, but please leave it to me," Marilla reached out to grasp John's hand.

"Did you hear what I said this morning?" John asked.

"This and every morning, my love."

"I promise I'll let you struggle and I'll try not to laugh. Is that good enough."

"Oh you had better not laugh at me, John."

"I only said I'd try. No promises now. What do you think will happen to Ruth Andrews? Will she return home?"

"I don't know, I don't know. I suspect the Bells are getting weary of having her as a house guest."

"So, what then?"

"We might have to have a little chat with Harmon. I won't let her return to that place. She needs care, yes, but not their sort of care and not the silent treatment either."

"Is she insane do you think?" John was genuinely curious.

"I doubt it, or at least she wasn't," Marilla paused thinking about their conversation, "no, she's not insane, but she has been badly treated. She has a long road to recovery and forgiveness ahead of her."


	40. Chapter 40

**Boxing Gloves Part 1**

 **For Excel Aunt and guest.**

* * *

 _Bang_! Damn _Bang_ Woman _Bang_! _Bang Bang_ Owwww! John swore harder as he hit his thumb with the hammer.

Marilla drove John mad. She'd wasn't half as disabled as he had been when he broke his leg. She had double standards that was for sure. Sometimes he wondered why he'd married - twice, he was a sucker for punishment, that was for sure. Life was calmer when he was on his own. Maybe he'd go for a ride, unannounced. Leave her to it for a while, see how she liked that. If she didn't want him, he'd let her sort out her own food, then maybe she'd appreciate him. He was sick of treading on eggshells and getting into trouble for it.

Trotting into town, he saw a couple of his old friends, men he hadn't seen so much of lately; they were just walking into the bar. He jumped off the horse, tied it to the rail and followed the men in. "John Blythe, long time no see, friend. Come in, come in. Have a glass with us. Tell us all about married life," his old friends chorused.

The bar was warm and gloomy. A dim light filtered in through the grimy windows, casting squares on the floor. It smelt of wet wool, tobacco smoke and sweat, which somehow commingled into a comforting miasma. Smoke curled up from a myriad of smokers' pipes and cigarettes. A low murmur of voices was interspersed now and again by a bout of laughter. Men drank at tables or propped up at the bar. Through the smoke, John could see four men sat at a wooden table in the corner playing poker; on another two men were hunched over a chess set, intent upon their game, their glasses empty in front of them.

John had not frequented bars often, but on occasion it was nice to sit in the company of male friends. People who could commiserate about the opposite sex. "So, how's married life, Blythe?" James Rankin was a tall man with broad shoulders and now greying hair, though once upon a time it had been jet black. He was married to Bessie and they had five children. He was often to be found hanging around the bar. John took a swig of his drink and sighed as the others smiled at his dejection. "I'm frustrated."

"Frustrated is it? Not getting enough action?" Rankin teased. He had been amazed that John could find old Marilla Cuthbert attractive, and was surprised he didn't see John up at the pub more often.

John glanced across at his old acquaintance, realizing what he was saying. "Well no, not like that, Rankin. She's broken her arm."

"Ah yes, I heard about that. Nasty business I'm sure. A woman with a broken arm is no fun to be around. They don't like being seen to be fragile, helpless..."

"…And they take it out on you," Clay Lucas finished. Lucas was a short sandy haired man with a neat moustache, whose long hair was continually falling across his eyes, causing him to spend half the day brushing aside. Whenever John saw him, he longed to cut the man's hair, just to put him, John, out of his misery.

"Aye, aye. That's about the size of it. I'm tip-toeing around on eggshells all day as she nags me to do everything and she never thanks me for it, rather tells me where I've gone wrong."

The other two nodded sagely, they'd been there, often.

"Another?" Lucas offered, as he lumbered to his feet to order another drink for the three of them.

After a few rounds, John felt it was time to go home. A storm was threatening and he didn't want to ride home too drunk in the rain.

* * *

Just before lunchtime Marilla stuck her head out the door and called out for John. She was getting hungry, but with her arm in a sling she couldn't manage the bread.

There was no answer. She rang the lunch bell. Silence. That was odd, he should be in the barn. A little confused she walked out to the barn and found it empty, even the horse was gone. Had he gone out? He didn't say anything to her about it.

Now she was solitary, it was strange, all those years she'd been alone of course, and it had been fine, but now, with her stupid arm trussed up, out of action and the mystery of John's disappearance, she felt quite vulnerable. She could hear a distant roll of thunder. There were few things in this world that Marilla detested but thunderstorms were one of them. She hoped this one would stay away.

Her stomach rumbled as she made her way back to the house. Wherever John was, she still had to eat. She regarded the food in the pantry, most of which required two hands to prepare. The loaf for instance, how was she supposed to carve off two pieces of bread with one hand? Wedging the loaf between her arm and her chest didn't work, neither did resting her arm against the top of the loaf, it just moved around with the knife. She was getting more frustrated by the moment, and she was hungry. Save using her feet, she couldn't work out a way to manage it. Eventually using her teeth, her forehead and her one good arm she managed to tear off a hunk of bread and cobbled together a messy lunch of various bits and pieces such as an apple, some ham, a bit of cheese. She placed bits and pieces in the bread and ate a very clumsy sandwich.

Even the simple act of pouring a glass of water had to be planned out, she placed the glass in the sink under the pump and pumped some water in, watching with dismay at first when she realised it was in the wrong spot, she got her arm soaked moving it too. She seldom ate an apple whole, usually cutting it up first, but she was still hungry.

An hour later, he had still not returned, and she needed to pass water. He had been helping her with that too. Now her petticoats got in the way, and she found she could not manage them with one hand. Eventually she had most of them out of the way, but there was still a flounce or two she couldn't manage, and now she was desperate, so she went anyway and had to put up with the wet skirts against her leg.

She had been a bit short with John lately, even though he was so helpful and now she was alone she was beginning to think perhaps she hadn't been fair to him. Marilla hoped he'd come home soon.

* * *

Was that him, or merely another roll of thunder? She hoped it was him, with the storm approaching, she did not want to be alone. Her head jerked up at the sound of horse hooves, glancing out the window she spied him coming home at last. He put the horse in the stable and came to the house shortly after. Walking in, he did not look at her as he washed his hands.

"Where have you been? I didn't know you were going out? I was worried. Have you been drinking, is that alcohol I can smell?"

John went to the pantry, fetched himself some food and sat down to eat it, not acknowledging Marilla at all, he was still angry with her. He noticed in passing that she had torn the loaf, supposing that was her lunch.

"John? John? Speak to me, love."

He took a swig of water and ate another bite of his sandwich. Marilla was excellent at ignoring him when she was upset, he figured he could do the same, let her beg for forgiveness for once.

"I've had a trying day. This stupid arm makes everything so difficult," she complained.

"Uh" he grunted her way, just to show her he was listening, but committing to nothing.

"Yes, look at the loaf. It took ages to get a piece of that, and my petticoats are damp, I couldn't get them out of the way to pass water. It was difficult on my own."

"Was it? Did you require some assistance then?" John asked sarcastically.

"Well it would have been helpful, yes. I'm not saying you can never leave me, but a warning would have been nice!" Marilla's voice grew in strength as she accosted him.

"A warning, that's nice, coming from you. Since you've broken that arm, you've been a complete pain in the neck, Marilla Blythe. I've been helping you in a thousand different ways ever since and not only do you seldom thank me, last week you were annoyed with me. I don't know what it is you were expecting, but now I'm annoyed too."

With that John pushed back his chair with a loud squeal and stormed out to the barn, leaving a stunned Marilla in his wake. She was still in the same state she had been when he arrived.

Sitting there in John's wake, Marilla was angry herself, how dare he talk to her like that? She fumed about his behaviour, but as time passed without his return, she calmed do. Her heart slowed, she started to reflect upon her behaviour. It was just so vexing. Marilla never liked to look vulnerable, that always made her cross. Even Dora and Davey had picked up on it when they were small. Was she really such a dragon when she was unwell? She walked over to the range and picked up the kettle to fill and placed it under the pump. She didn't want too much water in it, so after a pump or two she put the lid back on and reset it over the fire. Maybe a calming cup of tea would help her?

Had a kettle ever taken so long to boil? Perhaps it was because she couldn't do anything else while she waited. It really was terribly frustrating to be incapacitated like this. Normally, she'd be sweeping or scrubbing or chopping while she waited, but now all she could do was sit and wait. What do they say? 'A watched kettle never boils.' She got up and paced for a bit in the parlour.

Spying some accumulated dust on the bureau that, thankfully, she could attend to, she went to hunt out some dusters and spent a happy half hour. Even this task was slow, as she had to put down the rag, move the item, dust, and replace the item, something she usually managed quickly with two hands was far more laborious with one. Housework always calmed her down, it was so satisfying. The kettle did boil while she was working. She took the kettle off the heat but was enjoying herself so much she waited until she had finished her task. Finally standing back up, she cast her eagle eyes over the room and was pleased to see it all looked much cleaner.

She turned back to the kitchen and made herself a pot. It was relaxing, the combination of a job well done, and the tea made her feel much calmer. Letting out a big sigh as she sipped her tea, she thought about her husband outside, supposing she owed him an apology. Maybe some afternoon tea would help ease his mood.

Marilla poured some tea for John and popped a couple of cookies in her apron pocket. Glancing outside first, it smelt like approaching rain. Just in case she put on a rain coat, opened the kitchen door in advance and carefully made her way out to the barn; ever since her fall she had lost some confidence in her footing, a fact not made easier by having her arm out of action.

She could hear him before she saw him, he was madly hammering some… thing? He seemed hard at work and oblivious of her approach. He was muttering to himself, it was hard to hear over the hammer, but she caught snatches, her name and a few other words. My, but he was handsome when he was riled though, he was putting his whole body into it, swinging down with the hammer, really pouring his emotion into the work. He knocked his thumb with the hammer and swore, putting it in his mouth briefly to quell the pain. She stood in the doorway for a few moments, but as he still hadn't noticed her, she moved into his line of sight, if he ever looked up. He did eventually and started to see her staring at him. "What are you looking at?" he snarled.

"You," she replied simply, "just you, my exasperated husband. I brought you afternoon tea."

"Hmm. Strings attached?"

"No strings. If you reach into my pocket here," she glanced down, "you'll find a cookie or two."

John rummaged around in her pocket and took the cookies, the proffered tea and sat down to drink. The gesture softened his mood somewhat.

"I'm sorry," Marilla said matter of factly. "I was completely out of line. You were being so sweet to me, and I was just plain mean to you."

"You were."

"Yes, Dora reminded me that I'm often like that when I'm frustrated or vulnerable. Even when they were little the twins learnt to avoid me at those times. I scoffed when she said it, but I suppose she's got a point. I just don't like being out of control."

"You like being in charge."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"You don't like to be seen as frail," John was stating a fact, rather than asking a question.

Marilla looked at him for a long moment, "No."

"… or needy."

"There is one thing I need."

"Oh?"

"I need you," Marilla stated flatly. "I've missed you."

"Missed me?"

"Yes, I've been so angry all week and then, then you left this morning. It made me realise how much I need you."

"Because you're the walking wounded," John wasn't quite ready to let her off the hook yet.

"No, not just that, though I do need you now, more than ever."

"I saw your pathetic attempt at a sandwich."

"Oh, my sandwich! Yes, that's better forgotten. Still needs must and I was hungry. Have you ever tried to cut bread one handed? It's not easy."

The corners of John's mouth rose slightly, "I expect not."

"But I don't just need you to help me out around the house. I need you." Marilla traced her fingers gently along his forearm, causing the hair on his arm to rise slightly in response.

"Oh, you need me there? Where else do you need me?"

"Here," she said as she picked up his hand and placed his wounded thumb into her mouth. It felt delicious in there, all warm and soft. She sucked gently upon it, easing the hurt. He could feel the soft roughness of her tongue before he pulled his thumb out.

"Hmm," John hummed, "anywhere else?"

Marilla leant down and touched his stomach, walking her fingers further and further down, "here is nice, and here."

"Oh," John breathed heavily as he pulled Marilla down to his lap.

"… and h…" Marilla's voice was muffled as he covered her mouth with his warm lips and kissed her deeply. Pulling apart abruptly, he undid her top buttons, to nuzzle at the tops of her breasts.

Outside they could hear horse hooves and then someone, Millie? calling out for them. Marilla made as if to go out to greet her, trying to button herself up again, and failing, "she'll be delivering dinner," but John pulled her back and put his fingers to her lips to silence her,

"Shh, I don't care about dinner right now."

"It's rude. Darling Millie is so good to cook for us."

"Shh, we can tell her we went for a walk. He traced his fingers lightly over the top of Marilla's breasts. "I'm in no fit state to speak to her now," he said with a glance downwards.

There was a silence, and then at the barn door they heard "Yoo hooo! Marillahh? Marillahhh? Are you in here? Jo-hn? Jo-hn? I brought some dinner. Are you here?"

Marilla stopped caressing John, and giggling quietly, they threw a bit more hay over the top of them, in order to hide. They weren't taking much notice of Millie in the background, calling out to them for a few minutes before she gave up and drove away. There was a distant rumble of thunder which caused Marilla to huddle closer to John.

Later as they lay on the spiky hay, their clothes strewn around them, Marilla turned to John saying "I really have been a pill. I am so terribly sorry."

"Yes, well mind you don't behave that way again, or I might have to spank you."

"Oh, well when you put it like that…" Marilla laughed as John tapped her lightly on the bottom.

* * *

The next day Marilla went to thank Millie for the food. "I'm so sorry we missed you darling."

"Where were you? I was a bit worried when you weren't home."

"Oh, um, we went for a walk. We just thought it was a good day for a walk."

"Really? It was pouring with rain all afternoon, Marilla. You walked in that? I hope you don't catch a chill."

"I'm sure we'll be fine, darling, but thank you for thinking of us." It was best to keep Millie in ignorance and confusion, to save her innocence. A couple needed some secrets from the family.

* * *

A/N I'm sure you're all wondering what Harmon Andrews is up to. Next time I'll investigate his reaction to his wife's abscondence.


	41. Chapter 41 Boxing Gloves Part 2

_Going back a couple of weeks at the beginning. Harmon's reaction just did not come easy to me, but I promised I'd write it for you._

 _With thanks as always to **OriginalMcFishie** for her guidance and **Elizasky** for some inspiration; and thanks to all you lovely readers. Don't be put off by extensive reviews, I'd love to know what you think._

 _Oh, and with this story I have passed 300k published words. Nothing remarkable on this site, but not a bad effort in just over a year._

* * *

Harmon Andrews was confused.

When he and Ralph returned home, he found Ruth's nurse standing agitatedly inside the house wringing her hands, explaining that she had tried to stop them but there was nothing she could have done. He did not react well. He yelled at the poor woman when he saw the bedroom door hanging off its hinges. "Why didn't you stop them! She's not well, she can't be out and about. You know the doctor's orders."

"I, I'm sorry, sir. They just kicked the door down. I tried, but what could I do," she gestured ineffectually. "They had a big strong man with them. I was powerless."

Harmon just stared at her, his face getting redder with rage. Eventually with a groan of frustration he ran out to saddle the horse. He rode at a straight gallop, whipping it to go faster and faster through the steadily pouring rain to Ralph's house. Not bothering to knock, he raced through the place, throwing open doors in an effort to find Ruth. He was sure she would be there, all the while he was muttering to himself, "it's not right, she's ill. We have to look after her. It's not right, they can't just take her…"

Harmon was dismayed to find that Ruth was nowhere to be found. "She's not here?" he raged at Ralph. "Where is she, I must see your mother. Tell me son, where is she?"

Ralph was as mystified as his father. He had dropped his father off and now had him in his home, in an enraged state, pacing up and down his parlour. Harmon was pounding his fist into his palm in his rage. "They don't understand, she's not well. She needs to be kept safe. Why would anyone do this. I'm just looking after her best interests. It doesn't make any sense for them to kidnap her."

"Father calm down. I will make some enquiries. Have some tea."

"I don't want any dashed tea. I just need to find her," Harmon rounded on his son with wild eyes.

"I tell you what, Father, you go home, and I'll make some enquiries. I'll be around as soon as I know anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, and then, just in case she returns on her own, you'll be there to greet her."

Harmon could see the sense in Ralph's plan. So, still upset, he mounted the horse and cantered home, not in quite such a fury as he had been before, though still agitated.

* * *

The Andrews had engaged the services of Mrs Prendergast as housekeeper for decades. A small round woman, with an ample bosom, she had come from Scotland when she was just a wee lass and had never completely lost her burr. Mrs Prendergast had as good as brought Harmon up since he was a lad, and he confided in her as he seldom did with anyone else. Now the elderly woman met Harmon as he slowly walked up through the drizzle to the front door. "Come in Harmon, come and tell me all about it," she held out a towel for him to dry his hair.

He took it gratefully, drying his hair and wiping up the water that streamed down his face, "have you seen her, have you seen Ruth?"

"No laddie, I have not. She's gone, and ye know I don't think that's a bad thing. I'm just making a pot of tea, will ye join me?"

Harmon nodded, tea would be welcome on a cold day such as this, "you don't? I'm worried about her."

"Aye, I know ye are. But I was concerned before."

"Why?"

Pouring the tea into two cups, Mrs Prendergast responded, "well I had my doubts about the doctor's treatment of her. We women need some stimulation you know. Keeping her shut up like that wasn't going to do her any good, poor lass," she blew on her tea and sipped it gingerly, the cup gently clinking against the saucer as she replaced it.

Harmon decided not to tell Mrs Prendergast of the stimulation the doctor had prescribed, he had an inkling she may not have approved, and in any case, it was a matter best kept between a husband and his wife. No need for her to know. He gulped his tea and coughed at its heat for a minute or two before replying, "Why didn't you say anything, then?"

"Ah, well, laddie, it wasn't my place," she smiled at his impetuousness teawards, "if you had asked my opinion, I would have given it, but you never did. I've never been the sort to stick my oar in on the private doings of the Andrews family, I just bide my time."

"I think I would have rather you'd said something," Harmon responded.

"Ye say that now, I dinnae think you would have said it before."

Ralph burst into the parlour as Mrs Prendergast finished speaking and told his father Ruth's whereabouts. "She's at the Bell's."

Harmon sprung up, ready to go out again straightaway, but Ralph put his arm to his father's shoulder, "wait Father."

Mrs Prendergast looked up at the two men, her warm teacup in her hands, thinking how mature her wee Ralph was these days, he had turned into a man while her back was turned it seemed.

"What? Don't get in my way, Ralph. I have a right…"

"Yes, I know, but Mother has rights too."

"Have you seen her? Is she well?" Harmon asked excitedly.

"I have, she seems calm. She does not want to see you. She told me that explicitly 'Please tell your father I won't receive him' were her exact words."

"Did she say how she got out? Did she say who was behind it?"

Ralph looked a mixture of proud and embarrassed at the question, "ah yes, well that was Dora."

"Dora? Your Dora? Your wife? _Dora_ was behind it?"

"Yes, that's about the size of it, Father," Ralph wasn't sure whether to be proud or angry at her intervention.

"I can't believe it, Dora was so upset with Ruth before, you know before when…" in his shock, Harmon's words deserted him.

"Yes, well she's over that now. Now she's just worried about Mother. I must say I'm impressed by her compassion, despite everything."

When Harmon found out the normally timid Dora was involved, he assumed she had been led on by Ruth or Mrs Bell, it never occurred to him that she could have been the instigator. He sat on the couch opening and closing his mouth, no words coming out. He looked at Mrs Prendergast, shook his head and wandered out of the room.

* * *

Based on her conversation with Marilla and John the previous day, Millie was worried. She sat down to pen a few words to Anne.

 _Avonlea  
_ _October_

 _Dearest Anne_

 _I hope this letter finds you all well. The family here are fine. The boys keep us on our toes that is for sure and certain, still no rose bushes were hurt in the writing of this letter and that's the main thing._

 _Now, I'm writing to you today because honestly, I am worried about Marilla and John. I'm sure they haven't said anything to you, but despite all that Dora and I are doing to help out, which of course we are happy to do, I don't think they are managing very well._

 _I took them over some dinner yesterday and couldn't find them anywhere. Marilla told me this morning that they had gone for a walk. Anne, it was pouring all afternoon. Now I'm worried one or the other of them will catch a chill._

Truth be told, Millie had heard some whoppers in her time; as the mother of twin tearaways, she could spot them a mile off; but the lie suited her purpose, so she left it in.

 _I wonder if perhaps you could invite them to stay with you for a few weeks, just until Marilla's arm is out of plaster. If you are agreeable, I will put them on the 10 o'clock train._

 _With all my love,_

 _Millie Keith_

This letter was almost the exactly the same as another Anne received from Dora. If the girls were not coping with their care, perhaps Marilla and John should come, mused Anne. Knocking on Gilbert's study door, she walked in noticing that he was hard at work on some correspondence. He looked up and saw his ethereal angel had come to pay him a visit. "What is it sweetheart?"

"Our parents. Dora and Millie don't think they're coping."

"With Marilla out of action you mean?" Gilbert queried.

"Yes. They wonder if they could come and stay with us for a few weeks."

"Hm, it makes sense."

"They won't like the suggestion that they're not coping on their own, though," Anne mused.

"No, they pride themselves on their independence don't they," agreed Gilbert.

"Yes, but they're not getting any younger. Marilla's fall worried me."

"She said it was because she was carrying the tea tray."

"Well she shouldn't be doing that at her age. Maybe after they go home, we should see about getting them some live-in help?" suggested Anne.

* * *

"Hm," Marilla hummed as she read the mail.

"What is it?"

"A letter from Anne. She thinks we should go and stay with them while I'm recuperating."

"What makes her suggest that all of a sudden?"

"The girls have both written to her, they're worried."

"Well what do you think?" John asked.

"It's probably unnecessary, unless you think we should," Marilla slopped some hot water on the floor as she poured it into the teapot, "is that a sign?"

John walked over to the sink and fetched a tea towel to wipe it up. He turned to Marilla to give her a hug. She reached up and traced his chin, feeling the stubble there, "you didn't shave this morning?"

"I forgot, I'll do it now."

"I kind of like it, you look quite dashing, but I don't think you should try it again."

* * *

They sat uneasily on the Ingleside couch, holding hands, waiting for Susan to bring some tea. Neither particularly wanted to be there, but they had as good as been ordered to come. Certainly, Dora and Davy and their respective partners had heaved a sigh of relief as they waved them good-bye.

Anne and Susan were in the kitchen fixing the afternoon tea together. "What do you think, Susan?" Anne enquired as she set out the teacups and saucers on the tray.

"I think they both look very tired and frail, Mrs Doctor Dear, not to mention too thin."

"I agree."

"But leave it to Susan, she will look after them. She'll fatten them up, and that you can tie to."

Anne laughed and kissed her, "I'm sure you'll make it your mission."

Susan wiped her floury hands on her apron and picked up the tea tray. "Just open the door for me, if you don't mind, Mrs Doctor Dear. Then you can leave the rest to me."

"What was the impetus to bring us here, Anne? It's a few weeks since my accident," Marilla enquired before she bit into a large slice of Susan's cake topped with a healthy dollop of whipped cream.

"Millie reported that you had gone for a walk in a downpour. She was worried about your judgement," Anne replied.

Marilla laughed, "Oh the poor darling, we didn't go for a walk in the rain."

"No? That's what Millie said."

"Well, that's what I told her we did. You'd think the mother of twins would spot a falsehood a mile off. No, John and I were in the barn, fooling around."

"Fooling around?"

"Oh, Anne, don't be such a prude darling. We were making love. Though I admit I needed a hand afterwards getting all the straw out, it's like sand, goes everywhere."

"Marilla!" Anne could feel her blush rising. Marilla and John just sat and smiled smugly after glancing at each other. "Well anyway," Anne recovered, "that's why Millie thought you weren't coping. She thought you needed a rest and I agree. You're both far too thin. Susan will be feeding you up and you'll both be resting."

"We're going to be bored out of our minds."

"In this house," Anne scoffed, "I'd like to see you try."

* * *

"Aunt Marilla! Grandpa!" the children rushed into the sitting room, delighted to see them both sitting there. "No one told us you were coming, I've got so much to tell you. I've just started learning chess. Can you play, Aunt Marilla?" Jem spoke as Rilla climbed on to Marilla's lap and Shirley leaned against his grandfather.

"Chess? No, I never learned." Marilla kissed Rilla's cheek, the smell of her hair redolent of the great outdoors.

"I'll teach it to you. I've been trying to teach Walt, but he's no match for me."

"Oh, you'll make me nervous now, Jem," Marilla laughed, "what if I'm not up to scratch."

"You'll be fine," Jem said over his shoulder as he started setting up the board. Marilla got up to watch him as he set out all the pieces. "This is the King, he's powerful, but he can't do much. If you lose your king, the game is over."

"Sounds like a few men I know," Marilla glanced at John and winked.

Jem, oblivious, went on in a headlong rush telling her about all the pieces, what their strengths and weaknesses were and how they moved about the board. It was quite involved, and Marilla had to ask him to repeat himself quite a few times. Jem patiently explained as John drew a chair over for Marilla. Susan brought in some afternoon tea, John handed her a cup as she listened intently.

"Shall we play? You can be white, I'll be black," Jem offered.

Marilla was tentative at first, despite Jem's extensive description, she still had no idea how the game was played. Still it was a nice activity to do with her favourite grandson. He was so enthusiastic, she found herself getting excited about his next move.

John watched as Marilla became more intent on the game. At least it was an improvement on her depression at being sent here in the first place. Truth be told, though John told Marilla he was loath to come, he had been finding it hard to manage her unassisted. From dawn to dusk she needed help, dressing, toileting, eating; he was getting exhausted with it all. Now, with Anne, Gilbert and Susan's help, he felt he could manage. At least this way they could enjoy each other's company rather than being continually vexed.

Dinner that night was roast lamb. John sat next to Marilla and cut up her dinner for her, then turned around and did the same for Rilla. Rilla smiled at her namesake around John's arms, "We're the same, Aunt Marilla."

Marilla smiled fondly back, she just hated that she needed assistance to cut up her own meat, but at least she did have the help. She thought back to that vexing day when she had to make her own lunch.

The children, usually so rambunctious even through dinner, behaved themselves when their Aunt Marilla was at the table. Everyone sat up straight and chatted politely, telling the stories of their school day.

They were fascinated by Marilla's plaster cast. Walter took every opportunity to knock on it until Anne told him to let Marilla alone. Marilla smiled and told Anne it was fine, she was pleased someone was enjoying it. Rilla drew some stick figures on it one afternoon, finding it an unusual canvas for her artwork.

The children were attentive to Marilla's needs, and fetched and carried or cut her food for her as necessary. It was a relaxing time for them both.

* * *

"Goodness, how on earth did you cope, John?" Anne exclaimed as she dressed Marilla in the morning. The plaster cast got in the way of everything, it was heavy and unwieldy. Once the sling was in place it was easier, but until then, it was a force to be reckoned with. Of course, Marilla couldn't do much to help. She could only stand still while Anne tied up her stays and fastened every button.

It was only when Anne exclaimed about how difficult it was that Marilla understood what a trial it had been for John. Throughout the day, Anne helped Marilla with her toilette; Susan was in charge of cooking and made sure that food was cut up small enough for Marilla to manage one handed.

With little to do around the house, they found themselves rather bored at first. She and John spent many hours walking slowly around the house, but as the weather was too foul outside, they were constrained in that endeavor. The children came home in a flurry every afternoon, but the hours between their leaving and returning home passed slowly.

They took to sleeping in. Once the children had left for the day, they felt more comfortable. John might start with a gentle caress and before they knew it, they would be cuddling in bed, reading or chatting for a couple of hours.

Gilbert knocked on the door one afternoon. He had been to town on a call and had popped in at the general store on his way through, picking up the mail. There were a few for Marilla, one each from Dora, Millie and Rachel, and also one from Mrs Andrews. She had moved to stay with her daughter Jane in Winnipeg, and thanked Marilla for all her help and told her that she felt safe there, and busy as Jane had twins to care for. "I wonder what Harmon thinks of the whole saga?" Marilla mused.

"I suppose we can ask him when we return home, darling," John replied.

"I can't imagine how that conversation would go," Marilla answered. "How is your departed wife?"

Gilbert examined Marilla's arm. Marilla told him it ached less, but it was still terribly itchy. Unfortunately, there was little Gilbert could do about the itchiness, but he told her it would only be a few more weeks until he would take the cast off. But he advised her, she should expect her arm would be stiff and weak for a couple of weeks after. "I don't want you returning home to Green Gables the moment it's off. We'll need to develop a therapy regime first.

Gilbert had another surprise for them. He had picked up a new book from the store, _The Time Machine_ by H.G. Wells "What's it about?" Marilla enquired.

"It's about a man who can travel through time rather than space, apparently," Gilbert explained.

"Sounds heathen, as Rachel would say," Marilla responded. "Give it here. You read it to us John."

Taking the book in both hands, John began to read:

"The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyes shone and twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The fire burned brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and passed in our glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and caressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there was that luxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought runs gracefully free of the trammels of precision. And he put it to us in this way—marking the points with a lean forefinger—as we sat and lazily admired his earnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it) and his fecundity."*

"Goodness, fecundity? Do you think this is quite suitable?" Marilla exclaimed.

* * *

 _Ingleside_  
 _November_

 _Dearest Rachel_

 _We find ourselves with time on our hands here at Anne and Gilbert's. The children are darling as ever and my gorgeous Jem is teaching me how to play chess._

 _We have been attending church and catching up with Anne's friends. Mrs Meredith invited us to tea, and we spent a lovely afternoon with her. Rev. Meredith poked his head in, but the man does seem vague and did not stay long, saying he had a sermon to write, and this was on a Tuesday, Rachel!_

 _Otherwise we are having a restful time, at first I was a trifle bored, but I find I have settled down now. We have a routine and that keeps us amused. It is of course just lovely to have time with Anne during the day, we are enjoying a really good catch up._

 _Gilbert procured some new books to keep us out of mischief, one author is a Mr. H.G. Wells, his_ Time Machine _is quite extraordinary. I will tell you all about the plot when I return home._

 _It occurs to me now that one of the reasons John and I were short tempered with each other was that we were utterly exhausted. Looking after a wounded lady of mature years is a full time job even for one much younger. Neither of us were coping very well, I fear and it was plain stubbornness that kept us at home. We pride ourselves on our independence as you know Rachel, but sometimes at a cost._

 _It is only now, as I am resting at Ingleside being so beautifully cared for by Miss Baker and Anne that I understand just how very badly we were faring. Anne tells me she has a renewed respect for John, not that she didn't before, mind._

 _I'm not sure when we will be home, Gilbert says he wants us to stay for a little while after my cast comes off. My arm will still be weak and he says I'll still need some help getting back to full strength._

 _I hope you are keeping well, I am missing your company._

 _With the very fondest love,_

 _Marilla Blythe_

* * *

Marilla woke up suddenly in the night, the chess solution was suddenly so clear to her. Jem and she had been playing a game over a succession of days, each one making a move after several hours of deliberation. She got out of bed, put her slippers on, lit a candle and crept out to the parlour. Susan and the younger children were under strict instructions to leave the board alone, so it sat in its usual spot. Marilla put the candle down, the light casting wild shadows about the room, and regarded the board once more. Then after considerable thought, moved her queen three spots to the right, she thought for a while longer, then, satisfied, took her fingers off. Yes, that would do it.

Gilbert was sure he heard something moving downstairs. So, thinking it was an intruder he got up to investigate. As Gilbert remarked dryly to Anne afterwards, he wasn't sure what he would encounter, but the sight of his mother-in-law clad only in her nightgown creeping down the hall with her candle clasped in her left hand, was not even in his top ten.

"What on earth?" exclaimed Anne.

"She said she was playing chess."

"Do you think she's, you know, all right?" Anne said, "should we be concerned?"

"I'm sure she is. If she's getting up to play chess in the wee smalls, then I don't think we have much to be worried about. I did check the chess board afterwards and she had made a move. Jem is going to be quite stunned in the morning," Gilbert reassured her, depositing a kiss on her cheek before he rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

 _Winnipeg  
_ _November_

 _Harmon_

 _In case you are wondering, I have moved to Winnipeg to stay with Jane. I am safe and well._

 _I don't know what to say to you, Harmon. I admit I was getting over anxious with the grandchildren. Did it mean you had to send me away? Was that the action of a loving husband? And then to lock me up in my room with nothing to do. You try it sometime, Harmon. No books, no society. If I was a little distressed before I went away, I can assure you I was quite unwell by the time I escaped._

 _Now I am in a better place, mentally and physically. Please don't come and fetch me home. Just know that I am happier than I have been for a long time._

 _I suppose you are wondering if we will ever see each other again? I cannot answer that, I do not know if I can trust you ever again, Harmon. In an effort to solve my issues, you wounded me more severely than I ever have been before. I need time to think about that and our relationship._

 _Ruth_

* * *

* The Time Traveller, H.G. Wells 1895


	42. Chapter 42 Wicked Games we Play

_13 November  
Avonlea_

 _Dearest Ruth,_

 _Please my darling, please don't leave me. I beseech you, don't leave me all alone._

 _Please come back._

 _All my love_

 _Harmon_

* * *

Harmon came to town to pick up some supplies and bumped into a few old cronies. Mr Pye, Mr Boulter, Mr Gillis, and a few others were standing together in a knot in a corner of the mercantile, Mr McSpurgeon hailed Harmon as he entered.

"Harmon, how are you old man? How's this weather, eh?"

Harmon found himself drawn in to the group, but it quickly became awkward as no one knew how to broach the subject of his wife. They knew she had left him. There were all manner of rumours about what had transpired, but nothing definite, and no one wanted to bring it up now, in public. But like the elephant in the room, no one could think of anything else to say to the man. After an awkward pause, as they looked down and shuffled their feet, Harmon bade them all farewell. They said they looked forward to catching up real soon.

* * *

Marilla and John had enjoyed a busy morning, Miss Cornelia had paid a call and they all sat around enjoying a catch up. John found her aversion to men somewhat hard to bear, but he behaved himself, safe in the knowledge Marilla did not agree with her.

They lay down in their bed ready for an afternoon nap. John fell asleep almost at once, but Marilla's eyes would not close. Eventually she gave up and got back up, putting her house shoes on, she padded out to the kitchen.

"Mrs Blythe, what can I do for you? I thought you were resting," Susan greeted her.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Just a glass of water, please."

"Certainly." Susan fetched a tall glass and pumped some water into it and sat it down in front of Marilla. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, that's fine. May I sit with you a spell? I think Anne is busy."

"Of course, I'm just baking monkey faces. I would enjoy the company," Susan pulled out a chair for Marilla who sat down gratefully. Despite this not being her own kitchen, it was still a place of comfort and warmth.

"How are you feeling, Mrs Blythe?" Susan asked as she rolled out the cookie dough.

"Much better thank you Susan. I don't think we understood just how exhausted we were until we came here," she sipped her water, "but I'm feeling better than I have for months. Mr Blythe feels the same way."

"I think we've managed to put a bit of meat on you both too, you were too thin when you arrived, you look healthier."

Marilla glanced down appreciably, "yes, I might even have to take out the waist on this dress one day soon."

The two ladies chatted for a while longer, mostly about their shared objects of affection, namely the children. Marilla yawned, "hm, seems I'm more tired than I thought. I might go back to bed after all."

Susan watched Marilla leave, reflecting on how much better she did look, even if the woman did look elderly. She opened the stove door and popped the biscuits in.

* * *

 _19 November  
Avonlea_

 _Darling Ruth_

 _Please just send me one line. I long to hear from you._

 _Your loving husband,_

 _Harmon_

* * *

Jem was supposed to be working on a math problem, but his mind wandered off to the chess board. Aunt Marilla had him in Check, he was sure he could escape, but the solution hadn't yet occurred to him. His teacher Mr Gleeson glanced up from his marking to see Jem staring out into space, very obviously not concentrating on the problem in front of him. Mr Gleeson cleared his throat, but Jem did not notice. Mr Gleeson then got out of his seat and wandered down to Jem's desk. "Working hard, Mr Blythe?"

"Wha? what? Oh, sorry sir."

"Where were you, Jem? Don't tell me your math problem is quite so engaging."

"No, sir, I mean yessir."

"What were you thinking about then?"

"My grandmother is beating me in chess, sir." The class laughed at that and even Mr Gleeson smirked.

"Your _grandmother_ is beating you?"

"Yessir, I mean that is she has me in Check. I was trying to see how to escape."

"Well, as much as I appreciate that predicament, class is not the time or the place to think about that. I would like you to return to your math problems."

"Yessir," Jem replied sheepishly, knowing he'd get some ribbing now.

* * *

 _26 November  
Avonlea_

 _Dear Ruth_

 _Don't ignore me. I beg of you, please come home..._

* * *

Mid afternoon naps were all very well, but sometimes the couple's requirements were out of kilter. Marilla's eyes closed almost at once, but not so John's. He lay next to her for a while, rolling onto his elbow, enjoying the sight of her chest rising and falling, there was something beautifully tender about watching her sleep. Even so, after a bit John rose and went to find something else to do.

It was a bleak Saturday afternoon, the children were in the parlour, looking rather bored. "Grandpa," they greeted him.

"What are you all doing?"

"Jem's still playing chess, but we don't have anything to do," Di explained.

John regarded their eager faces, "how about I teach you a game?"

"Yes please, Grandpa. What's it called?"

"Gin Rummy," explained John as he shuffled the deck. "Now everyone sit around the table, here," the children looked around delightedly. "Rilla you can come and help me, you sit in my lap and we'll play together, all right?" She nodded solemnly and clambered up. "Where's Shirley?"

"He'll be out with Susan," Di replied.

"Di, go and fetch him for me, please."

"Aren't playing cards dreadfully sinful?" Nan exclaimed.

"I know the Minister may not approve, but I don't think there's anything wrong with your learning a game or two." John explained the rules and they played a couple of practice rounds to get the children used to it.

Marilla stirred, sighed and luxuriously stretched before she noticed that she was all alone in the bed.

So intent were they on the game, that no one noticed Marilla watching them, after a beat, she commented in the quiet voice they all knew to take notice of, "John Blythe, don't tell me you're teaching the children card games?"

"Oh, hello Mar, yes I am."

"What is it?" her voice dangerously low.

"It's called gin rummy, Aunt Mawilla," piped up Rilla helpfully.

"Gin and Rum? John!"

"Settle down Mar, it's just a game. We're not actually drinking anything.

Marilla heaved a massive sigh and went to find her novel, determined to have nothing to do with it.

* * *

 _3 December  
Avonlea_

 _Ruth,_

 _My dearest one, I am so terribly sorry I mistreated you. I only acted on the doctor's orders._

* * *

"Susan?"

"Oh good morning Doctor Dear, what can Susan be doing for you today?"

"Are you going shopping in the next couple of days?"

"Well not today, unless you need something urgently."

"It's not urgent, but next time you're in town, could you buy me a nice India rubber ball please? It doesn't have to be terribly bouncy."

"Any particular colour, Dr Dear?"

"No, the colour's not important either."

"Well certainly Doctor Dear," Susan responded, somewhat curiously.

"Thank you Susan."

* * *

At last the long awaited day arrived, Gilbert told Marilla it was time to remove her cast. Much to her surprise Marilla found she had mixed emotions. Mostly relief, naturally, but some trepidation too. What if it hadn't healed? What if her arm never came back to full strength?

It was quite a procedure. John recalled the day the doctor removed the cast from his leg, though Marilla had no memory herself. Gilbert directed John to sit beside Marilla and to grasp her arm as firmly as he could. Taking a small tool out of his bag, Gilbert proceeded to saw the cast as delicately as he could manage. The motion sent shudders through Marilla's arm and to a lesser extent her entire body.

It took quite a while, and Gilbert had to stop and catch his breath and rest his arm a couple of times, shaking it out to stop the cramps. Eventually, he was able to pull the plaster away and then he unwound the bandage leaving Marilla's arm bare for the first time in a couple of months. It looked white, skinny and still bore the impression of the bandage.

"Marilla, just try turning your wrist for me?" She turned the wrist around a couple of times. "Now try touching each finger to the tip of your thumb." Marilla obliged. "Does it hurt at all?" Marilla shook her head. "And make a fist. How does it feel?"

"Very strange, surprisingly light. It's almost as it it's not really mine."

Gilbert nodded, "here's an India rubber ball I asked Susan to buy for you the other day. Take it in your right hand. Now I want you to squeeze it for me. As hard as you can."

"Ouf, that's not easy," Marilla strained to grasp the ball.

"I would imagine. You haven't used the muscles on this hand for a long while, they'll have atrophied from lack of use. Try to squeeze the ball in lots of five every hour. When it gets easy, increase the pressure or the repetitions. I still don't want you carrying anything for a few days. If it gets achy again, you can put it back in the sling for a rest.

"Thank you Gilbert," Marilla reached up to kiss him on the cheek.

"Yes thank you, son," John shook his hand.

* * *

 _15 December  
Avonlea_

 _Ruth,_

 _My darling, I beseech you, please come home._

 _I pray I will I see you for Christmas._

* * *

"Well hello there Mrs Blythe's right arm, what an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance again."

Marilla grinned as John lightly stroked the arm with his fingertips, then bent down to kiss along its length.

"It's missed your lips too."

They lay together enjoying the sensation of four bare arms.

"You know what they're going to suggest now?" John commented pensively.

"What?"

"Either that we stay here on an ongoing basis," he suggested.

"Would you want to?" Marilla enquired.

"Not particularly, I like our own space and well, freedom. I miss Avonlea. Or."

"Yes?"

"We employ a maid to help us out at home," he finished."

"A maid?"

"Yes, they're going to argue that we weren't coping."

"Hm," Marilla speculated.

"Well what do you think?"

"They have a point. Though I won't be incapacitated anymore."

"Yes, but you did fall over which is what caused all this in the first place."

"Are you saying this is all my fault?" Marilla asked, her voice rising.

"Now, now darling, of course not. You know I think we both need to take a step back. Neither of us are particularly good at conflict resolution."

She snuggled into his side, with a laugh, "you're right. We're both too stubborn. How did Caroline cope?"

"I don't know, I really don't know," John responded with a sigh.

* * *

After dinner as they sat in the parlour, Marilla rubbed her arm. "Does it ache, Marilla?" Gilbert asked.

"Just a bit, now and then."

"Wait a minute," Gilbert returned with a bandage. "I'll just wrap your arm up again, that'll help and you can put it back in the sling. You can do it whenever it's uncomfortable. I'll show Dad how to do it if it aches again."

* * *

Eating her toast, Ruth watched impassively as a dollop of jam landed on the latest missive from the man she once considered her husband.

"You've received a few letters from Father now, Mother. Are you going to put him out of his misery?" Jane asked gently.

Ruth looked her daughter straight in the eye and flatly replied, "No."


	43. Chapter 43 Homecoming

With thanks to **Mavors4986**.

* * *

 **Wanted** \- a situation as Needle Woman in a private family or store. Apply by letter, Mrs. LOUDEN, White Sands

 **Wanted** \- A good COOK. Good wages. Apply Mrs. BARRATT, Carmody

 **Wanted** \- A woman for housework in small town. Reference required. Clean active woman wanted about 30 years to do the housework of a private couple. Must be a first rate washer and ironer, kind and obliging. Good plain cook. No Catholics need apply. Apply Mrs. BLYTHE Avonlea

 **Wanted** \- A respectable, steady, young woman, about 24 years of age as servant of all work. She must be a good plain cook and have a twelvemonth's character from her last situation. No Irish need apply. Part of the washing done at home. Apply this day. Mrs. HEARN Carmody

 **To Be Sold*** \- A Servant Girl's Time to be disposed of, having about two years and four months to serve, is very fit for course work, spins exceedingly well; she has had the small-pox and is remarkably strong and healthy, fit for town or country business. Enquire at Market Street, Charlottetown.

* * *

Irma Munch was a shrewd, middle-aged, stout woman with soft grey eyes. Along the left side of her face she had a dark port wine stain which she bore with fortitude; as if her name were not enough of a cross to bear. When they spoke with her, she could see people staring at it frankly, never quite looking her straight in the eye. She would move her face to meet their eyes, but it never worked, their eyes would slide to the right to stare the more. Irma had trained as a nurse back in the day, but preferred the less structured work of helping folks in their homes.

Married once a long time ago, to Frank Munch, he had taken ill and died quite suddenly leaving her to fend for herself. She had one sister with whom she kept in sporadic touch, only writing her when she found a new position. Irma sat in her nightgown on the lumpy bed in her mean hotel room scanning the newspaper for positions vacant. One looked promising, so she put pen to paper and wrote off straightaway, then got dressed in order to post it.

* * *

Marilla and John returned home in the new year far fitter and healthier than they had been in months. The Ingleside folk had cared for them wonderfully, but they felt it was time to go home. They missed Green Gables. The children had been told to expect them; so it was to a warm, clean, well-stocked house that they returned. Just to be sure, Miss Baker had packed a multitude of treats for them, but in the end it was not necessary.

"They all look after us, don't they," remarked Marilla over a welcome cup of tea.

"We are lucky to have them," John agreed, "but it's nice to be back. I'm going out to the barn, just to check up on it all. I've missed the animals."

"Well make sure you rug up tight. It's still cold out there," Marilla recommended.

"Yes, Mother," chuckled John with a wink. Marilla swatted him in gentle admonishment.

* * *

"Marilla! Let me look at you, you look wonderful, Anne must have spoiled you. You look better than you have in years. And how is that arm of yours?" Rachel examined it closely, "I don't think I'll ever forget the sight of you falling over, you tried your best to hold that tray upright until the very end."

"Well I didn't want to lose the teapot. Speaking of which, will you take tea now?" Marilla said with a sad smile. "And yes," she chuckled, "we were certainly spoiled. We weren't to lift a finger."

"Yes please, I'm parched. What did you get up to?" Rachel responded as she drew a chair and sat down.

"Just the normal goings on of a large family. Though dear Jem did teach me how to play chess."

"Chess? Goodness, so they can teach an old dog new tricks?" Rachel teased her with a wink.

"Who are you calling a dog?" Marilla bridled.

"I'm just joking. Chess, hm I've never learned." Rachel watched as Marilla set out the tea things, noting that one of the girls, probably Millie, must have provided the cake. It didn't look like a Marilla original.

"It's a very interesting game, we are pretty evenly matched."

"Will you miss it now you've returned home?"

"No need, Jem found us a notation method, so we can write moves to each other and play it on our own chessboards. John bought me a set on our way home." Marilla cut a piece of cake for them each as she talked. A crumb fell on the table and she smudged it with her forefinger and licked it absentmindedly.

"How wonderful for you both," Rachel exclaimed.

"Yes, it's a lovely way to stay connected."

"You always did have a strong bond with that boy. This cake is delicious by the way."

"Millie baked it. I am blessed to have those girls close. I mean I love them all, naturally," Marilla mused, switching her subject to Anne's family. "But I will readily admit Jem is my favourite. After they lost Joy, we were so happy to have him, with his beautiful hair. He's such a sturdy lad."

"Mustn't be easy for him," mused Rachel.

"Easy? Whatever do you mean?"

"The weight of expectation on his shoulders. He has to live up to his late sister's promise, as well as his own."

"I don't think anyone feels like that," Marilla sipped her tea.

"Maybe not, but I expect he's aware of it nonetheless. Did John spend much time with Shirley?" Rachel asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, those two are as thick as thieves. Shirley spends most of his time with Miss Baker in the kitchen, but John can prise him out."

"What did they get up to, then?"

"Oh just boy stuff," Marilla muttered vaguely, not relishing the look on Rachel's face if she knew playing cards were involved.

"And how is dear Anne?"

She's wonderful, they have carved out a lovely life over there. Gilbert works terribly hard, you know. He's out at all hours. The community really relies on him."

"More weight on shoulders," Rachel remarked.

"What? Oh yes, I suppose so. Still he did sign up for it. He does take it to heart when he loses a patient, Anne works hard to keep his emotions on an even keel. He needs a shoulder to cry on when something goes wrong."

"Do you think he does use her that way?"

"Yes. Of course I never see it, but she tells me as much. Tell me, what's been happening here? Does anyone know what Harmon Andrews is up to these days?"

"Ah, Harmon, you know I almost feel sorry for the man," Rachel responded. "Have you heard from Ruth?"

"We received a long missive from her when we returned home. She sounds, well if not happy, then content."

"Not happy?"

"Well, despite everything I think she did love her husband once, now she is all alone. She is enjoying her grandchildren, of course, but she is missing the life she used to have."

"Yes, of course," agreed Rachel, "I understand."

"And how have you been? How were your family? Did you have an enjoyable Christmas?" Marilla asked.

"I've been well. I had a slight cold last week; oh it was nothing," reassured Rachel at the look of consternation on her friend's face. "I'm all over it now. Christmas was lovely. I stayed at Eliza's for the week, but I was pleased to come home, it is exhausting being around all the children, I find my own house quite comfortable afterwards. To have my own space again. You two must feel the same way," she said with a wink.

"Yes, well we won't be alone for long," replied Marilla with a return wink.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Anne and Gilbert only gave us permission to return here on the proviso we get someone in to help us out, I placed an advertisement in the Bright River Gazette on our way home."

Rachel was stunned by this turn of events, "goodness. To live in?"

"Probably, unless someone very local responds and they can go home at night," Marilla explained.

"You never cease to amaze me, Marilla Blythe. I'll never forget that afternoon when you told me you were adopting a boy," Rachel recalled fondly.

"Well look how that turned out," Marilla commented with a smile. "You thought I had gone crazy, but I think we made the right decision."

"Yes, that 'boy' turned out to be a blessing in disguise."

"Some disguise," chuckled Marilla.

"So, tell me what did your advertisement say?" Rachel enquired curiously.

"Oh, just that we wanted a mature lady to come and do the housework for us."

"What if, if you get a _Catholic?"_ Rachel's voice dropped to a whisper, "I hear they're always looking for positions vacant, the better to infiltrate our Presbyterian wellbeing."

"No need to worry on that score, Rachel. I expressly stated that Catholics need not apply," Marilla leaned over and patted her hand comfortingly.

* * *

"Any responses to our advertisement, Mar?" John asked over dinner a few days later.

"Hm, well there are a few," Marilla sliced open the first one and scanned it quickly. "No, this girl is too young. I would prefer someone a bit more mature, don't you think?" John nodded, he hadn't really thought about it.

"Ah, here's one, a Mrs Irma Munch. Odd name."

"Irma Munch!" John hooted, "that's her name, Irma Munch? My lord, that's a moniker and a half. Oh we have to meet her. How old is she?"

"John, you are not to say a single thing about her name. I forbid it. It's not easy having folks mention the oddness of your name all your life. You've no idea. She's in her forties, she sounds ideal. I shall write back and ask her to pay us a visit. Have you finished there?" Marilla gesticulated towards his plate, "I'll wash the dishes before bed."

* * *

"You know," remarked Marilla at bed time as she untied her stays, "I almost feel sorry for you men. You'll never know the exquisite joy of removing your corset at the end of the day."

"Well no need to wear it on my account," replied John as he trailed a succession of kisses down her shoulder, relishing the sensation of bare skin.

"Can you imagine what Rachel would have to say about that?" She turned into his arms.

"Oh Marilla, your standards aren't the only things that are slipping," replied John in imitation falsetto.

Marilla chuckled, "apart from that terrible voice I can just hear her."

* * *

Matty and Tommy Keith loved winter more than any other season. Winter meant snowball fights, snowmen, snow angels, sledding and walking with snowshoes. Coming in to a warm house at the end of the day and sitting down with their Mama over a cup of hot cocoa as they recounted their adventures was just the icing on the cake.

Matty woke up this morning and peeked out the window, delighted at the sight of miles of fresh unbroken snow for it had snowed heavily in the night. It was still very early, the sun was still tracing the horizon, the purple rays bathing the world in a lavender glow. He nudged Tommy and they quickly got dressed and crept down to the kitchen. They grabbed some cookies from the pantry and stuffed them down and kept some in a pocket for later. Then carefully and quietly opened the door and put their boots on. They had planned an adventure.

An hour later Millie got up to prepare breakfast, looking outside at the snow covered farm she guessed the boys would be out playing all day, so a hot hearty breakfast would be welcomed. Oatmeal was just the ticket. She stirred the pot, enjoying her proximity to the hot stove on this cold morning. She took the oatmeal off the heat and poured some water into the teapot to let it steep as she went to wake up the twins. They'd be upset to miss out on a full day out and about.

"Matty! Tommy!" Millie called gently, expecting to see either a mound of boy under a blanket in each bed, or a bigger mound in just the one bed, as often the boys visited each other for comfort on cold nights. To her surprise there were no mounds at all. She pulled the blankets away and even looked under the beds and behind the door, just in case; but the boys were not in the room.

Panicking, Millie rushed downstairs and out the front door, calling out frantically for the boys to come home. Davy overheard her from the barn and came at once to see what the matter was. "It's the boys, they've gone," she told him in a rush.

Gone? Where could they be?" Their boys were apt to go off half cocked on all sorts of adventures, but they had never done anything on a cold mid-winter's morning before. "You stay here Millie, I'll go and look for them. Don't worry, I'm sure they won't have gone far." Davy gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek before he dashed off to saddle the horse. Millie looked after him briefly before she felt the cold and walked back into the house to put her coat, scarf and hat on; feeling she should look around the house before she truly panicked.

Her panic was just beginning to rise, when Davy reappeared with a little boy under each arm, "Found them walking up the the slope behind the barn," he declared.

"Oh, boys you scared me. Why didn't you call back when I called you?"

"I'm sorry Mama. I did call back, but I don't think you could hear me. I'm sorry we left. It was such a lovely morning, the snow looked so inviting, we just had to rush out to enjoy it," Tommy exclaimed as he and Matty leaned into their mother for a welcoming hug.

Millie heaved a huge sigh of relief as she looked across their behatted heads towards their father. "Please tell us before you rush out like that. As fun as a day like this is, it can be dangerous if a blizzard approaches. Look up at the clouds now, can you see? I think it might storm before the morning is out, what do you think, Davy?"

"Your Mama is right boys. I think it just might. We could have lost you for good if that happened. You're only little, you have to be careful," Davy explained; just relieved the boys were home safe and sound. The four of them tramped back through the snow to the house where they all sat down to breakfast. As they ate, the first snowflakes slowly sank down from the sky, heralding yet another blizzard.

* * *

 _Dearest Anne_

 _You will be pleased to know that we have engaged a maid to help us out with the housework and cooking. Her name, if you will believe it, is Irma Munch. Still as the recipient of an unusual name myself, I kept a straight face while I met her and instructed John to do likewise. He chuckled later when we were alone._

 _Despite this, Mrs Munch seems like a capable woman. Not too young which is perfect, we did not want someone too immature._

 _She is if not in Miss Baker's league, at least a passable cook. I'm not sure about her work ethic, sometimes I have to remind her to make sure the dusting is completed thoroughly._

 _I introduced her to Rachel, the two women sized each other up frankly, as though I were some sort of prize to be fought over._

 _It is strange for me to have her here. Of course, we have had folks helping out here before, most notably when John broke his leg and that lovely Miss Weekly came to stay; but I had a role to play then, while she cared for John. Now she will be doing all the work. I don't want to step on Mrs Munch's toes while she gets settled in to my way of doing things, and yet I don't want her to form bad habits, or think she can get away with sloppiness._

 _Don't fret about us though, Anne. I am merely musing out loud and it is transferring to the page. I am sure we will be fine, there are just some settling in issues to be solved on both sides._

 _I remain your loving mother,_

 _Marilla_

 _P.S. Tell Jem, Kn to QR4._

* * *

* I actually saw it written this way in an old advertisement.


	44. Chapter 44 Green Eyed Monster

With thanks to **OriginalMcFishie** , and **Kslchen** for their advice.

* * *

Marilla Blythe née Cuthbert had endured many changes over her long life: she had unexpectedly become a mother late in life; she had married the man of her life long dreams, but her unlooked for retirement was easily the least welcome. Giving up her kitchen and her house to someone whose standards were lower was particularly annoying.

John watched his beloved wife fret while she observed Mrs Munch working in the kitchen, he knew Marilla was frustrated. For his part he was just pleased that Marilla was taking it easier these days. He had been worried when she injured herself. A farmer, Marilla had worked hard all her life, now she was in her mid 80s it was time to put her feet up. Naturally she champed at the bit about it, but John as well as Anne and Gilbert and the other children were adamant it was time for her to stop.

As far as John was concerned Mrs Munch was a kindly soul. Sure, her standards weren't quite as high as Marilla's, but few peoples were. Her cooking was passable, and she was friendly enough. She certainly cared for them both sweetly. Mrs Munch always had a smile or a cheery greeting for him. He felt sympathetic about the port-wine stain across her face. At first it was hard to look at her directly, the thing was so fascinating. It had texture to it, such that he was always interested to see for himself what it felt like, not that he ever would, but it was intriguing. After a few days though, it became just part of her and he almost forgot it.

It was an adjustment that was for sure and certain. Marilla, ever the organised, ever the nurturer, now had another woman in her kitchen, cooking, baking, cleaning the house, doing the housework. She didn't mind the laundry so much, that task had been getting away from her of late, particularly the sheets, they were so heavy when wet; but she found having another woman in her kitchen hard to bear. The kitchen had always been her private place, her solace.

That she didn't particularly warm to Mrs Munch didn't help. Oh, she was nice enough, Marilla supposed, but there was something about her that Marilla couldn't relate to. She tried to talk to John about it in private when they were in bed. He couldn't see what the matter was, as far as he was concerned Mrs Munch (he still smirked when he said the name) was a delightful woman, just there to help them out a bit. "Do you think you might be the tiniest bit jealous, love?" he suggested to her one night.

"Of her? No, I'm not jealous of her."

"Good, because there's only one woman for me you know and she's snuggling up to me right now."

"That's good."

"So, if it's not that, what is it?"

"I don't know. I can't identify it. She certainly seems nice enough, I suppose."

"Then, put the matter out of your head, my darling. I'll put out the light."

The next morning Marilla tried to put her unease out of her mind, she hoped it was just their change in circumstances that was the problem.

* * *

"Well goodbye then, are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Of course, I will darling, you've left me alone before.

"I know, I know, but never with her," with a toss of her head in the house's direction.

"What? What on earth are you on about?"

"I don't know, there's something I can't put my finger on. I don't trust her."

"Don't trust her with what? I can take care of myself, you know. You can trust me."

Marilla gave him a peck on his cheek and finally climbed into the buggy with his assistance. She drove off down the laneway with Rachel. They had an afternoon with the Ladies' Aid planned.

Snow had started falling shortly after their arrival at the Boulter's house, now they could hear it thudding softly against the windows.

"...so, it's decided, Marilla will provide a casserole on Thursday and you, Mrs Bell on Saturday," Rachel wrote the roster down in her little book.

"Well it won't be me doing the actual cooking," Marilla explained, "Mrs Munch will do it on my behalf. She has full rein in the kitchen these days."

"Oh, Mrs Blythe, how do you feel about that?" Mrs Pye exclaimed.

"I have to admit, I'm not too enamoured of the situation, but it's for the best, I suppose."

"I know our business is over, but I think you had better wait for a while, hopefully the blizzard will finish soon," remarked Mrs Boulter. "I don't think anyone should go home in this weather. I'll just ring the bell for another pot of tea." Marilla watched Mrs Boulter's interaction with her maid, Mrs Foxx, hoping for some tips, but it all seemed to go smoothly enough. Somehow the same conversations between herself and Mrs Munch never did, in some way she always felt slighted by the woman; which naturally put her on her guard.

There was a knock at the door. Mrs Foxx answered it and admitted a very snowy John. He shook himself off and wandered in to find Marilla, "I've driven over to bring you two ladies' home. The weather looks like it's going to deteriorate. I think we should leave straightaway. The ladies bundled up into their coats and scarves and climbed into the buggy. With a slap of the reins, John had the horses break into a trot and they made their way home through the increasingly heavy falling snow.

* * *

 _Avonlea_  
 _6 April_

 _Dear Sister_

 _I hope this letter finds you well as it leaves me._

 _You will be pleased to know that I have found myself a new position. I am currently living in sleepy Avonlea, tending to an elderly couple, Mr and Mrs Blythe. He is lovely. I think he might have been quite handsome as a younger man; going by a family photograph featuring his handsome son with dark curls. H_ _e is still quite dashing despite his age._ _In any case John Blythe is a real gentleman, a kindly and cheerful soul, with a sweet sense of humour and a nice disposition._

 _His wife is rather more brittle. She's a tall skinny woman with sharp beady eyes, I get the feeling she doesn't trust me._ _They have not been married long. Apparently, they stepped out when they were very young, but quarrelled and parted, they only caught up with each other a few years ago. So there's hope for me yet! Now they are so happily married it sets my teeth on edge._

 _She never married, but adopted three children, one of whom lives over in Glen St Mary and the other two, twins, live nearby with their various offspring. He only had the one child a boy, and guess what? Her daughter and his son are married. The son is a doctor, don't you know. They live with their six children over in Glen St Mary, so no need to worry about them._

 _She is called Marilla, a preposterous name, if you ask me. He calls her Mar when they are alone. They are quite eccentric; you would not believe the size of their bath. I fancy I hear them in the night, old people should be fast asleep in their beds, not doing the other thing. One day last week I arrived home from shopping and I think I might have disturbed them, for there was a violent sound of people rushing to the bedroom and a door slamming. I did not see them again for about an hour. It is ridiculous, they behave as though they are newlyweds still._

 _Indeed my only problem is that I expected an elderly couple would be in greater need of my various services, as it is they are quite hale and hearty._

 _I remain your favourite sister,_

 _Irma_

* * *

Rachel picked her way along the lane avoiding the worst puddles and muddy wheel ruts. Lifting her skirt on occasion, her hems always needed washing at this time of the year, the mud was almost impossible to avoid. A chilly wind blew, she was pleased her hat pins held as she needed both hands to keep her shawl fastened. An early blue jay called from its perch overlooking the path. This was a bleak time of the year, winter was passing but it was still too early for even the hardiest of flowers, even the harbingers of spring, the snowdrops were barely peeking their heads above the snow drifts.

Mrs Munch admitted her when she knocked on the door and Rachel bid her a good afternoon noticing as she walked in that the house smelled slightly different, perhaps the result of a different cook at the helm. She sat herself down in the armchair in the parlour opposite the door, the better to watch Mrs Munch set out the tea things in the kitchen. "So, how are you finding having staff, Marilla?" she asked as she turned to her old friend.

Marilla scoffed, "I don't like it."

Rachel smiled sympathetically, "come now Marilla, I'm sure it's just teething problems. You'll get used to her and she to you, that's what I say."

"I do hope so, I'm not particularly happy right now."

They turned as they heard the door open and then a heavy footstep "Good afternoon, Rachel," John greeted her as he walked in, "I hope you are keeping well?"

"Very well thank you, John. Marilla and I were just discussing..." Rachel darted her eyes towards the kitchen.

"What? Oh, yes, I suppose you would."

"What do you think of her, John?" Rachel enquired.

"I'm perfectly happy. It's particularly pleasing to see Marilla putting her feet up after all these years. You were working too hard, darling." At the sight of Marilla shaking her head, he reiterated "you were, and you know it."

"Well, yes I suppose I might have been," Marilla conceded, "but this isn't much better." They could hear Mrs Munch moving saucepans on the stovetop. Marilla rolled her eyes. John wandered out to the kitchen to fetch a coffee cup, surprising Mrs Munch when he arrived. She smiled at him, "Can I help you Mr Blythe?"

"I just needed a coffee cup, Mrs Munch."

"Of course, Mr Blythe, I'll bring one out to you."

"If you don't mind."

"It would be my pleasure." John wandered back into the parlor and waited while Mrs Munch brought him out a cup and a plate for his cake. She cut him a large slice and held out the plate for him to take. "Thank you, Mrs Munch," John replied gratefully. He could get used to this servant lark. Marilla rolled her eyes once more, if she kept doing it, John was afraid they'd roll right out of her head.

* * *

With the weather finally warming up, John and Marilla decided to take a picnic to Hester Gray's garden, it was always an excellent spot from whence to witness spring erupting. Mrs Munch had packed them a basket, so they loaded it and a blanket into the buggy for the drive over. Asking Mrs Munch to wash the floors while they were gone, they drove off fully intending to enjoy their outing.

Irma watched them go at last, they had dithered too long for her liking. She intended to sit down with a cup of coffee, before she tackled the housework. The old lady sure was a slave driver.

The drive was cheery and gay. John flirted with Marilla and they had a merry laugh over the latest antics the children had gotten up to, which Anne had filled Marilla in on in her last missive. "How's the chess coming along, darling?" John enquired.

"Fairly well, I think I've won five and he's won seven games, so we're pretty evenly matched."

"That's good, I suppose," John agreed.

"It is, it would be boring to win all the time," Marilla mused.

"Boring to lose all the time too, I don't doubt."

"That's so. In any case, thankfully we don't have to worry about that," Marilla hooked her arm in John's and they drove along the road enjoying the scenery.

Once they had laid out the picnic blanket in their favourite corner of Hester's garden, Marilla spent a few minutes unpacking the basket. Mrs Munch had packed them a pie, sandwiches, some apples and plum puffs. "Hm," John admitted eventually, "these puffs are lovely, but I have to admit yours are nicer." Marilla smiled, vanity might be sinful, but it was nice to hear John say that. Her confidence had taken a battering lately, she needed to know she was superior to Mrs Munch in some regard.

After lunch, she lay down with her head in John's lap as he stroked her hair and murmured to her. She could feel her eyes getting heavy and before she knew it, she was fast asleep. John watched her for a while, before he shifted her slightly, the better to catch forty winks himself. They lay there, slumbering in the speckled sunlight, as ants feasted on the picnic crumbs .

* * *

One afternoon, Dora brought the children around for afternoon tea. Little Henry and slightly larger Sara were doing well. Sara was toddling around these days and into everything. Henry watched her with adoration in his eyes. Marilla had had Mrs Munch tidy the house scrupulously before they arrived and make sure that nothing dangerous was within Sara's reach. "she was slow to walk, Mrs Munch," Marilla explained, "but now she's at the stage where they have no sense of danger."

Irma bustled about and made a great fuss of the children, much to Marilla's annoyance. The woman was beginning to set her teeth on edge.

"Mrs Munch seems to have settled in, Marilla," Dora commented, "it must be nice to have someone help you out. I could do with some help around the place."

Dora's reasonable comment made Marilla feel even more resentful. "Yes, I suppose I should be grateful."

"Are you not happy with her? She seems pleasant enough."

"Well, truth be told, I'm not particularly. I just don't like having to share my kitchen with her, Dora, I just hate having her take over my house. I suppose I sound terrible."

"No, no, it must be a big adjustment," soothed Dora, though privately she felt Marilla was being rather petty. The ladies sat chatting whilst the children played on the floor. Dora told Marilla how her parents in law were faring. Harmon was still missing Ruth, his opinion was not reciprocated, Ruth seemed to be very happy. Mrs Munch appeared half way through, just as Dora felt Henry's diaper. "Let me, Mrs Andrews. I'll change him for you."

"Why thank you Mrs Munch, that's very helpful of you, if you're sure?"

"Of course, Mrs Andrews," Irma picked baby Henry up and wandered out to the bedroom with him over her shoulder, telling him what a handsome little fellow he was.

"She's very helpful, Marilla," Dora commented.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"You needed some help," she continued.

"I know, I know."

* * *

"Ah!" Marilla sat bolt upright in bed.

"Darling, what is it?" John was startled awake.

"Oh, I had a nightmare, I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't be silly. What was the nightmare about?"

The particulars were fading, but the sense of unease remained. "I don't know, I think you and Mrs Munch were in it. She was chatting with you, touched your shoulder."

"Are you jealous Marilla? You don't need to be, you know. _Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I began_ ,"* he recited

"That's, that's lovely," she said with a hiccup, "where did you hear that?"

"Gilbert. He wrote me a letter the other day and told me he thinks of Donne when he's coming home after a long night. The thought of Anne waiting for him, keeping his bed warm, keeps him going through the darkest night. You are my rock too, my love, never forget it," he drew Marilla in for a hug as he spoke, breathed in the aroma of her hair and held her, stroking her as her breathing settled down and slowed as she fell back to sleep next to him. He watched her for a while until his eyes grew heavy and he fell to sleep next to her.

They slept in after their broken night. Marilla was unpleasantly surprised to find Mrs Munch had not started preparing breakfast before they had woken up. "You don't need to wait until we get up before you start your chores, Mrs Munch," she admonished the woman.

"I am sorry, Mrs Blythe. I didn't want to disturb you and Mr Blythe," Irma responded. Marilla frowned, she supposed Mrs Munch had a point, as unwelcome as it was.

* * *

In bed a couple of nights later, Marilla could hear John moaning, "what is it my love? Are you quite well?" The room was suffused with dim moonlight, just enough to see by.

"Uhm, ah, uhm," John groaned, clutching his stomach, "no. I just, I just have…" he bounded out of bed and raced to the chamber pot, squatting over it, he released a stream. "I'm sorry, I just." He half straightened, but still mostly crouched over, took a step back towards the bed and collapsed against it.

"John? John! Dearest, whatever is the matter?" Marilla rolled out of bed and ran around to him. He lay moaning next to the bed. She was unable to lift him, so she left him there, ran to the door, opened it and called out, "help! Mrs Munch, we need help," when there was no immediate answer, Marilla made her way up to Mrs Munch's room and shook the recumbent maid by the shoulder.

"Wha? What is it, Mrs Blythe?" Irma sat up blearily.

"It's J- Mr Blythe, he's been taken unwell, please come at once."

Putting on her dressing gown, and swinging her plait behind her shoulder, Irma made her way out the door behind her frantic employer. Unbidden, a small satisfied smile fleetingly crossed her face, but thankfully Marilla was facing the other way.

* * *

* A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning, John Donne


	45. Chapter 45 Broken

Mrs Barry may not thank **Excel Aunt Creator,** but I am indebted to her.

* * *

 **Broken**

Mrs Munch followed Marilla to the bedroom. The women rushed around to the far side of the bed. John was in a bad way, sweat broke out on his forehead, they watched the poor man writhing in his agony. He vomited and soiled himself, unable in his state to get up again. The smell was terrible.

"John. What's the matter, darling? Will you help me, Mrs Munch."

"Mrs Blythe, we best get him out of those clothes. I'll fetch some sheets."

"Caroline, help me, Caroline," John groaned.

"Darling, it's me, it's Marilla."

"Uhhmmm," John moaned.

The women cleaned him up, changed the sheets and bundled him back into bed. Marilla had a moment of inspiration and rushed downstairs.

* * *

The strident bell rang out on the pitch-black night. Stumbling, swearing at a stubbed toe, Gilbert answered the telephone; sitting down and rubbing the afflicted appendage in his left hand. "Blythe residence, Dr Gilbert Blythe speaking."

"It's John," gasped Marilla, "he's unwell. I don't know what to do?"

"Marilla? Is that you, Marilla? Have you called Dr Mustard?"

"What? Mrs Munch is just caring for him now. Gilbert, he called out for your mother." Gilbert's heart turned queerly.

"I'm sure he was just confused Marilla. Marilla," he said speaking slowly to his panicking mother in law, "ring off and call Dr Mustard."

"I, What?"

"Call your own doctor."

"Oh yes, yes of course."

"Let me know how he is in the morning."

"Yes, yes, I'll keep you informed," Marilla hung up the phone and immediately called Dr Mustard in Avonlea.

* * *

Dr Mustard always made a point of coming quickly to his night calls, figuring no one would call him unless it was an emergency. He examined John, who was still in terrible distress. He interrogated Marilla about the events leading up to the episode. She could shed no light on the subject. It came out of the blue. He had a brief chat with her and Mrs Munch regarding treatment, the main thing was to keep him hydrated. The doctor predicted John would recover in a day or two, but he emphasized the importance of keeping him informed, particularly if John's condition deteriorated. Marilla couldn't quite understand how it could worsen, it was pretty awful already. "If he starts hallucinating, or lapses into unconsciousness, summon me straightaway," Dr Mustard explained.

"He did call out for his first wife earlier, for Caroline," Marilla remarked.

"He did? How long it is since she passed? Must be a few years?"

"Yes, we've been married for four years and she died the previous year."

"Ah well, they were together for a long time. The mind does funny things when you are in distress. I shouldn't read too much into it, Mrs Blythe."

* * *

"Mr Blythe, let's get you cleaned up. I'll just wipe you with this cloth now." John was curled into a little ball, clutching his stomach and moaning. "I know it's very painful, isn't it? The cramps should pass soon. Come take a little water, I know you don't want it, but we must keep you hydrated, doctor's orders." Irma cradled John's head and tipped a sip of water into his mouth. When half of it dribbled out, she tried again and then wiped his chin gently and lowered him back onto the pillows. The sheets were soiled, so she rolled him over to one side of the mattress before she exchanged them for fresh ones.

Wiping his brow, she murmured gentle soothing words, telling him that the flux would be over soon, as his body expelled it all and that he would soon feel better. Eventually when she ran out of words, she started singing him an old lullaby that her mother used to sing to her. Deep down in his distress, John heard her singing and though he was too focused on his pain to take in the words, the music was soothing, as was the touch of her hands on his brow and the cool of the damp towel on his neck and shoulders. The two women took turns nursing him, comforting him.

It took a few days before he felt better, but as time went on, he did gradually improve. Rachel delivered some chicken broth, and Marilla fed it to him one afternoon. Slowly, mouthful by mouthful they got through a small bowlful. Mrs Munch advised they get him gently started on food again. He was quite tentative at first, unwilling to repeat the experience.

It was a few days until he was well enough to sit outside in the sun. Marilla sat with him, holding his hand as they looked out at the farm. "I feel as though I lost a whole week there, darling. What did I miss?"

"I hardly know myself. You kept us pretty busy," Marilla explained.

"Just as well we had Mrs Munch to help," John commented. As he spoke Irma brought out a tray with afternoon tea. "I'll be mother, shall I?" Irma poured the tea and set some cake out on a plate for them each. Once they were both settled with food and drink, she backed away, looking at them both speculatively through the fly-wire door for a moment, before she went into the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

* * *

William and Eliza Barry were relaxing in their parlour after dinner. William was reading the paper, the situation in South Africa looked very grim. He frowned, there were Canadian boys down there, doing their bit for the Dominion. William tapped his leg gently on the floor, an affectation that had annoyed Eliza for decades. Eliza was just starting a new piece of needlepoint. When it was finished, she planned to give it to Minnie May's as yet unborn baby to put in the nursery.

William looked up as Eliza dropped her sampler, the yarn and needle cluttering to the floor. Eliza slumped in her chair and even her face looked lopsided. "Eliza are you well?" she made no response. "Eliza!" A bit louder this time. William got to his feet and walked over to her. "Eliza, are you quite well?" Eliza moaned, but made no other sound. He put his hand on her shoulder, she looked up at him blankly but did not utter a word. He shook her slightly and watched in dismay as she fell slowly to the side, only the chair's arm keeping her upright. Now William was truly worried. He called for Meg, the maid, to ring the doctor.

William, Diana, Fred, Minnie May and her husband, Harry sat around Eliza's bed, watching her sleep. Dr Mustard had visited and diagnosed a stroke. There was nothing that could be done, she had suffered a bleed on her brain and would not recover. Eliza was in a coma now, so all they could do was wait, it would not be long. The only saving grace was that she had not suffered. Minnie May felt sad that her beloved mother would never meet the baby residing within her womb. William had shown her the sampler Eliza had been working on when she collapsed. Harry held her as she sobbed against his chest.

A blowfly banged against the window, the view through the wavy glass showing a bright day outside. The grandchildren were quietly playing catch, subdued at the thought of their dying grandmother. Fred thought they should be sitting still in the parlour, Diana told him they had to play, it was too long to make them wait, no one knew how long their vigil would last. The minister sat by, comforting all with his presence.

* * *

The first soul Diana had contacted upon hearing the news of her mother's collapse was her bosom friend Anne Blythe. Anne had packed her bags and departed on the first available train. She may have had a chequered relationship with Mrs Barry over the years, but her oldest friend, Diana needed her support. She relished the opportunity to spend some time with Marilla too, of course.

The rolling hills passed by in a blur as Anne's memories played out, recalling the time they were parted, seemingly forever, after Diana accidentally got drunk, and their subsequent joy when they were allowed to reunite once Anne saved Minnie May's life. Anne couldn't help but wonder if Mrs Barry's order would have stayed in place if Minnie May never suffered from croup.

Regardless, Diana was a true friend, the very kindredest of kindred spirits, time and distance had never stood between them. Diana had known how to treat Anne when Matthew had died and had been ever so gentle when Joy was born as well. The two women had a bond that came of long friendship, enduring heartbreak and rejoicing in life's successes. Now Diana needed her, Anne was not going to shirk her responsibilities.

Eliza Barry passed from this world to the next shortly before Anne arrived. Her family watched as she took one breath, but not the next. They sat in shock, it had all taken barely a day.

* * *

John picked Anne up from the station. Anne couldn't help but recall her journey there all those years ago, when a certain gentleman kept her waiting, but today John was on time and Anne only spied the old cherry tree from afar without having to speculate what an afternoon spent in its branches would be like. In any case, in her experience trees were not as comfortable in reality as they were in the imagination.

"So, tell me all about this Mrs Munch, John. Marilla is not particularly complimentary in her letters," Anne asked once she was settled in the buggy.

John slapped the reins, and the horse trotted homewards, "she's a kindly old soul. She has this terrible birthmark on half her face. I feel rather sorry for her. Marilla's not so sure. She's not quite up to her standard, you know."

Anne laughed, "well who would be?"

John smiled too, "indeed. There are few women around who could live up to Marilla's standards. I can hardly criticise her for that. I am happy that she's helping, the housework was getting away from her, as you know."

Anne nodded. Marilla would never admit it but since she broke her arm a few months ago, they all believed employing some help was a good idea. The fact that Marilla was taking a while to adjust was not surprising.

"And how are you, John? Are you completely recovered? That sounded like a nasty bout of whatever it was?"

"I admit, it wasn't much fun," John replied with a shudder, "but what Mrs Munch lacks in housekeeping skills, she certainly makes up for in nursing. Marilla would have struggled to care for me on her own, I suspect. Mrs Munch did an admirable job. It was not nice," John affirmed.

Anne looked over at him, "not nice?"

"Messy."

"Ah, yes. I understand. But you're all better now?"

"Yes, back to full strength now. I'm as good as I ever was. I hope I never get sick like that again."

"Just pull up for a moment would you, John. I always like to gaze at our little Green Gables from afar. It's such a welcoming sight." If the house looked smaller than Anne's memory of it, it was all the more beloved for that. The green roof nestled under the trees, the orchard was in full leaf. Anne knew that the crop would come into view as they drove closer, but even at this distance it looked as beautiful as any steading on Prince Edward Island.

"Giddy-up," John slapped the reins gently, though the horse needed little encouragement to go home.

Marilla came out to greet Anne. Anne noticed that she looked older, smaller somehow, but not as thin as she had been which was encouraging. Evidently, despite Marilla's misgivings, Mrs Munch was looking after them both.

Anne stood in the doorway, drinking in the Green Gables atmosphere. There was something slightly different about the house smell, perhaps as a result of another cook being in charge, Anne thought.

"And this is our marvelous Mrs Munch," John introduced her, "here is our wonderful daughter, Mrs Blythe."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Blythe. Goodness it is confusing with you all having the same surname."

"I can't thank you enough for looking after Mr and Mrs Blythe, Mrs Munch. I've heard so much about you, I'm so happy to make your acquaintance," Anne enthused.

Anne and Mrs Munch sat down to a cup of coffee together and got acquainted while Marilla and John laid down for their customary afternoon nap. Anne found the woman good company with a wry turn of phrase. She seemed perceptive enough and perfectly willing to look after the elderly couple. Really, Marilla was being a bit paranoid. Anne made a mental note to discuss it with her the next chance she got.

* * *

John and Marilla paid the Barrys a visit to sit with William and the girls. The poor man sat in his parlour looking like a ghost, Diana holding his hand and Minnie May hovering nearby. "William, I am so terribly sorry," Marilla sympathized. "We all know how much you loved each other." A log shifted in the fireplace and a spray of sparks went up the chimney. William looked dully at the fireplace as the noise jolted him, "she always liked a fire, hated to go to bed while it was burning brightly. I had to wait until it was mere embers before she'd join me," a tear tracked down his nose, hovering on the tip for a long moment before cascading down his lip. Eliza's funeral was planned for a couple of days hence, Diana and Minnie May were planning it.

As they lay napping on the afternoon before Eliza Barry's funeral, Marilla was woken once again by John's heartrending cries. Again, she made her way to Mrs Munch's room and together they tended to John. Marilla knew what to do this time, but she was concerned that it was not a once off occurrence. Anne was aghast at the state he was in. "Goodness, no wonder you called Gilbert, Marilla. I can see why you were worried."

"It will pass, eventually. But I expect he will be unwell for a few days yet, poor man. I just wish we knew what was going on? Well he won't be going to Eliza's funeral." Marilla stated.

"What does Dr Mustard say?"

"He's perplexed, it just comes out of nowhere and lays John quite low for a few days."

"I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it. I'm sure he will be well again," Anne reassured Marilla.

"I pray so. He is so terribly miserable when he is afflicted."

"Just as well you have Mrs Munch to help. I doubt you could manage on your own," Anne commented.

"Yes, I don't like her much, you know, but I will admit that she is an attentive nurse."

Anne and Marilla got dressed in their funeral-black dresses and waited for Davy to pick them up. Mrs Munch assured Marilla that she would take good care of John while she was gone. Marilla promised she would be back just as soon as she could. "Take your time, Mrs Blythe, I will manage just fine," Mrs Munch soothed.

Eliza Barry's funeral was well attended. Most of Avonlea was there, the small church was packed to the rafters. The bright sunlight shone through the stain glass windows in a sort of mockery of the solemn events within. The minister intoned the service with his sonorous, somewhat soporific voice, with his way of speaking through his nose. "Dearly beloved," he started, telling them what a stalwart member of the Ladies' Aid Eliza Barry had been for many years, extolling her virtues to her friends and neighbours. After the hymn, Abide with Me, and a heartfelt eulogy delivered by Diana and Minnie May, they all streamed out into the sunshine. Funerals held in warm weather always seemed wrong to Anne, cold weather seemed more appropriate, but of course, the great redeemer is insensible to such mortal matters.

Afterwards, at the wake, Anne found herself sitting next to Diana, with Minnie May and Dora sitting opposite. "Marilla tells me you were wonderfully helpful to your mother in law, Dora," Anne commented, taking a sandwich from a plate and biting into it.

"She was astonishing, Anne," Minnie May replied before Dora could demur. "You would not have recognized her. She swept in and rescued Mrs Andrews from her evil husband," Minnie May cast a sidelong glance at Mr Andrews standing in the corner chatting to a few men.

Anne laughed, "you mustn't call him evil, darling," she placed her empty plate on the side table.

"Well he wasn't very considerate to his wife, then. She's gone and left him. She's living with Jane in Winnipeg now. I doubt he'll ever see her again, isn't that right, Dora?" Minnie May commented.

"I think you may be correct, Minnie May. Perhaps I acted out of turn, but although Mother Andrews was a judgmental mother in law, she did not deserve the treatment she received. I couldn't in good conscience leave her sequestered like that," Dora took a sip of her coffee, thinking back to the way Mother Andrews had cowered on her bed when they broke her out.

"I was very impressed, Dora," Diana commented, "I never in my wildest dreams thought you would do anything like that. Mrs Bell told mother," at that her breath caught and she gave a small sob, wiping her nose with the handkerchief Anne proffered. Diana recovered and continued, "Mrs Bell told mother how wonderful you were, she wished she had such a strong daughter in law herself. You were a wonderful advocate for Mrs Andrews."

Anne patted Dora on the hand, "sounds like you were the hero of the hour, Dora. Well done." Dora couldn't help but smile. She had been proud of herself, but it was unchristian to say so. To receive such widespread accolades from women she respected, but of whom she was rather in awe, was encouraging.

* * *

Marilla stayed as long as she had to but was keen to get back home. She was worried about John, even though she knew Mrs Munch would provide excellent care. Nevertheless, as soon as she had paid her respects to William, and kissed Diana and Minnie May she made her way home again.

Rushing into their bedroom, Marilla noticed that Irma was sitting by John's side on the far side of the bed, he was quite agitated. Marilla sat on the near side of the bed and took his hand asking, "how are you darling?"

"Irma! Irma!" John sobbed. Marilla's heart broke. John rolled over to the nurse and wept into her chest. Marilla could scarcely bear to watch. After a moment she left them to it. Walking out of the house, she leant against the front door, her eyes closed in defeat; before she turned around and made her way down the lane absentmindedly making her way to Rachel's house.

Irma watched her leave dispassionately, "there, there, John, Irma's here. It's all right, let Irma care for you." As she heard the front door close behind Marilla, Irma smiled as she rubbed his back, watching him relax, then fall asleep. Distraught patients could always be placated in this manner, it was her favourite technique.

* * *

Rachel was startled to see Marilla sitting in the rocking chair on her veranda when she returned home. They had given poor Eliza Barry a good send off and Rachel had enjoyed a good catch up with all manner of folk she hadn't seen for years. She hummed softly to herself as she walked up the path thinking she probably wouldn't need more than a light supper after all the tasty treats she had enjoyed at the Barry house. "Marilla. Goodness what are you doing here? I thought you'd be with John is he not unwell?"

Marilla looked at her blankly, making no attempt to hide her tear streaked cheeks, "she's with him. He wants her."

"She? You mean Mrs Munch?"

"He's calling her Irma now."

"My goodness, dear. Come in, tell me everything."

* * *

After a long and tiring day, Anne made her way home to Green Gables, looking forward to a quiet night in. She knew John was unwell, but Marilla had explained what an excellent nurse Mrs Munch was, so she hoped she and Marilla could have some time alone, time to discuss the day's events. Much to her surprise, Marilla was not home. "Mrs Munch came out of John's room, wiping her damp hands on her apron. "Where is Mrs Blythe," Anne asked.

Irma answered innocently, "I don't know. Did you want her?"

"It's nothing, I just thought we could have a chat. Can I just see my father in law?"

"Mrs Blythe did come home a while back but left shortly after. I don't know where she went, or what time to expect her home. Mr Blythe is sleeping now, he's had a difficult afternoon, best leave him be."

Anne was perplexed, it was unlike Marilla to leave John when he was ill. She only left under sufferance this morning out of loyalty to the Barry family at such a terrible time. Perhaps Rachel could shed some light on the matter.

Upon hearing a knock, Rachel walked to the front door. She pulled Anne in as soon as she saw her. "It's all right, I have Marilla here, Anne. She's very upset as you might imagine."

"Upset? Why is she upset? Shouldn't she be with John?"

"Oh dear, well Marilla says she did go home, but John turned away from her and into Mrs Munch's arms, he's even calling her Irma now."

Anne blanched at that. "I admit, I didn't do more than glance in at John. He was asleep, Mrs Munch had it all in hand."

"Rather too much in hand, it would appear," Rachel stated flatly.

"Do you think he will be safe with her?" Anne asked worriedly.

"I'm sure he will. I think you had better have a chat with Marilla. She's very upset."

Anne followed Rachel into the parlour. Marilla was sitting in the armchair looking stonily out into the middle distance. In typical Marilla fashion she would not allow herself to display emotion. Anne knelt down next to her and took her hand in her own. "Marilla?"

Marilla looked stonily at her, saying "he's left me."

"No, darling, he hasn't left you."

"He has though, he went to her, not me." Looking up at Rachel she said, "I'm not feeling well, I think I have a headache coming on. May I lay down in a bed somewhere?"

"Of course, you may, Marilla. Follow me." Anne scrambled to her feet and took Marilla's hand and together they led her into Rachel's spare room. Rachel drew back the covers and they helped her undress and laid her down in her chemise. "Can I bring you anything, Marilla?" Rachel enquired as she closed the curtains. In her experience, a darkened, quiet room would be all that could help. Marilla gave no answer, not trusting herself to speak now, even shaking her head caused a painful cascade of stars; instead she curled up into a ball under the covers.

"Do you want to stay with her, Anne? I'll just be downstairs." Rachel enquired. Anne nodded her assent and lay down on the bed next to, but not touching, Marilla. She was desperately sorry for her. She was sure John hadn't deserted her, he was ill after all, not in his right mind. If there was anything Anne was sure of in this world, it was John's love for his wife.

Marilla was insensible now; her migraines were always quick to strike, recovery slow. Anne knew from experience that Marilla would be beyond speech or comprehension. She just lay there next to her, hoping that just the matter of her proximity offered comfort. When it looked as though Marilla might be ill, Anne held the bowl for her and wiped her face afterwards. Both women fell, if not asleep, then into a kind of doze; one that was more comfortable for Anne than it was for Marilla.


	46. Chapter 46 The Fruition of Her Love

**The Fruition of Her Love**

The saddest day in Irma Munch's life was the day her favourite patient recovered.

Jack Alcorn had been suffering from typhus, a particularly noisome disease, which meant that Irma was mostly left alone to care for him; a role she relished. Washing poor Jack down after he vomited or loosened his bowels, was supremely satisfying. She didn't have much of a sense of smell, so the stink never worried her; a blessing as typhus was renowned for its stench.

Once Jack had recovered, Irma found herself missing active nursing. Washing, feeding, offering succor were intensely arousing. When Jack left, she felt bereft and cast around for another patient to tend. The more hopeless the cause, the better. She liked it when they were very weak and reliant upon her. Unfortunately, some of her methods were frowned upon by the hospitals in which she worked. It did not go unnoticed that despite her best care, her patients took longer than usual to recover. Or that sometimes they did not recover at all from relativity simple illnesses.

Irma left the hospital's employ and struck out on her own. She found jobs as a nursemaid in private houses. The older and more infirm the better. If they weren't sick enough on their own; well there were ways around that. Her first patient died too quickly as she struggled to adjust the dose. Arsenic really was potent stuff, a mere drop could case quite a deal of discomfort as she soon learnt. A drop in a cup of coffee, preferably at night, was her preferred method of delivery. Although she didn't merely do it at night, it was better to make it look completely random, that way suspicion never fell upon her.

She had lost track of the number of broken nights she had endured, but it was worth it. Caring for her charges was God's work after all. She was just doing the Christian thing, caring for the needy.

* * *

When she had spied Marilla's advertisement in the _Bright River Gazette_ , she thought it sounded like a perfect situation. Her last employer had died, of a terrible illness as her neighbours would say, and Irma found herself eager to meet some new folks. She was the right age, could wash, iron and cook passably well, was the right religion and best of all, kind and obliging, _very_ obliging. A couple in sleepy Avonlea fit the bill perfectly.

Upon securing the position, the only problem as she could see it, was that John and Marilla Blythe were too healthy. Elderly certainly, and she had recently broken an arm, but far too vigorous for Irma's requirements. It was all too easy for her to procure a small bottle of arsenic at the mercantile one day, "The cats are so lazy at our place." No one even raised an eyebrow. She had perfected the dosage and was unsurprised to find a distraught Marilla at her bedroom door a few nights. Mrs Blythe was loving but she was not in Irma's league when it came to nursing. Irma shuffled her out of the room for the particularly messy jobs, leaving the old lady to the laundry, while she tended to the very handsome, and very ill John.

A neighbour died suddenly which provided Irma with the perfect opportunity for another 'bout'. Perhaps she slipped a little, because John's symptoms were worse than ever. Irma reassured Mrs Blythe that she would tend to Mr Blythe while she attended the neighbor's funeral. Irma waved her goodbye, hoping that she would be out of the way for a good few hours. There was the funeral, the burial and hopefully the wake to attend, after all.

Irma turned back to John who lay in his bed looking quite muddled. "There, there, John. You'll be all right. Irma's here, it's Irma here," she pacified him again and again, gently mopping his sweaty brow. He had soiled himself and rather than redressing him, she removed his nightgown, cleaned him and left him naked under the covers, reasoning it would make the nursing easier, not mention more enjoyable.

When the old lady returned from the funeral earlier than expected, it was to Irma that John turned in his distress, calling her name as he sobbed into her chest. Irma looked at the disappearing form of her mistress as she rubbed John's back, soothingly. She felt vindicated, it was she John loved now. She, who had cared for him so tenderly. Brittle Marilla knew nothing about nursing. John needed the tender loving care of his Irma.

Marilla stayed away for days which suited Irma just fine. John didn't need her any more, Irma could answer all his wants and needs.

All. His. Wants. And. Needs.

* * *

"Where's Marilla?" John asked two days later, as he started to recover. The fog had cleared, and he wanted his beloved wife by his side.

"She's gone," Mrs Munch stated flatly.

"Gone? What do you mean gone?"

"Gone as in not here, John. She left two days ago. But I'm here. I never left you. Irma's here," she soothed.

John's brows furrowed. Why would Marilla have left him? "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Can you tell me where my wife is?"

"Mrs Blythe returned home after Mrs Barry's funeral, a couple of days ago," Irma explained patiently, "and then left again. I don't know where she went, she hasn't returned. I've been nursing you back to health ever since. Now John, it's time for your bath."

"Call me Mr Blythe, Mrs Munch," John ordered, a bit of steel in his voice.

Irma did not like his tone. She preferred her patients when they were more pliant. Time for a cup of coffee, perhaps? Though really it was too soon; he was still recovering from his last dose. She never wanted to actually murder her patients, she just liked it when they needed her, all she ever wanted was to be needed, was that too much to ask?

"Very well _Mr Blythe_ ," she said, a sarcastic tone seeping in.

John did feel filthy after days spent vomiting and sweating, so he allowed Mrs Munch to wash him. Eventually, she finished the job and John had to admit he did feel better for it. He asked, "Why am I not wearing pajamas, Mrs Munch?"

"Oh, it was just easier to nurse you that way, Mr Blythe," Irma explained, hoping he would not ask her to dress him again.

But there was still the matter of Marilla's whereabouts. He did not feel strong enough to go looking for her yet, but there was something up. She would never leave him for so long. Mrs Munch brought him a cup of coffee and a piece of cake.

John felt tired after his bath, so he did not drink the coffee, though he did nibble on the cake, as much to build up his strength as anything. He rolled into his side and closed his eyes, he had hoped to drift off into an easy slumber, but his concern for Marilla kept him awake and then caused his sleep to be unsettled.

* * *

Marilla endured a slow recovery from her migraine. She was still feeling groggy two days later. Between them, Anne and Rachel tended to her, though they fretted about John. "Do you think you had better go and check on John, Anne? I don't like leaving him with that woman. Marilla didn't trust her, and now I'm not sure I do either," Rachel commented.

"Yes, I had better. I'll be back soon," Anne called over her shoulder as she left the room.

Over at Green Gables, Irma was sitting with John. He was sleeping fitfully. Irma looked up startled as she heard the front door slam. "Good afternoon, is anyone there?" she called out.

"It's me, Mrs Munch, Anne Blythe. I just came to check up on you and Mr Blythe. I'm so sorry I deserted you. Mrs Blythe hasn't been well, may I see Mr Bly…" Anne stopped in shock. John's naked shoulders peeked out from under the covers. At her glance, Irma hastily covered John up.

"He's sleeping, I think we should take our conversation out to the kitchen, if you don't mind," Irma suggested.

"Very well," agreed Anne suspiciously, "is he all right? Is he improving? Why is he not wearing a shirt?"

"I am happy to report that he is improving," lied Irma easily, he was improving, but she was not happy about it, "he's not wearing a shirt because we ran out. I haven't had time to launder. It's a messy business, you must understand."

"Do you need me to get started on the laundry then, just to help you out? He must feel vulnerable being undressed."

"Actually, that would be very helpful, thank you Mrs Blythe." In truth the last thing Irma wanted was the daughter around, but she should think of no good excuse to get rid of her. At least she'd be busy with the copper and wringing the sheets.

Anne went out to fetch some water from the well to heat up. When he heard the door open and close, John called out, "who's there?"

Irma went to him at once. "Was someone out there?" he asked anxiously.

"No, Mr Blythe, you're hearing things. Back to sleep now, you need your rest."

"Are you sure, I thought I heard Anne's voice?" John asked fretfully.

"No, no one's here. It's just you and I," lied Irma again. The situation was getting problematic, but she figured John was still weak, she could play it out for a while longer yet. If things got difficult, she'd just leave. Thinking that through, she went to her room to quickly pack her belongings, stuffing them into a carpet bag which she stowed behind the door.

While Irma was gone, John rolled over and attempted to get out of bed, desperate to find Marilla. He could roll across the bed without too much difficulty but getting on his feet took a monumental effort and he collapsed onto the floor. Lying there naked, he tried to crawl to the front door.

* * *

Out at the well, Anne noticed Dora approaching. "Good morning, Dora," they kissed each other on the cheek. "Are you all well?"

"We're well, but it sounds like Marilla and John are not," Dora commented.

"No, I've left Marilla in Rachel's care, but I'm worried about John," Anne explained.

"Have you seen him?" Dora enquired, gesticulating that the bucket was full.

"Oh." Anne switched buckets, splashing some water over her toes, "Yes I saw him. Mrs Munch said he was exhausted. He was sleeping."

"I would feel better if I could talk to him, just to check he's improving," Dora explained. "Have you enough water now? Shall we go in?"

Anne nodded, and Dora took a bucket from her. They walked up to the house together. Anne opened the door and they simultaneously heard a thump from the bedroom and a small squeal from Mrs Munch's room. Ignoring Mrs Munch, the women ran to John and Marilla's room and were shocked to see their father in law / step father, crawling on the floor, completely naked, in tears. Anne rushed to his side as Dora fetched a blanket to cover his modesty. John crawled into Anne's lap and she cradled him. Seeing that John was safe, Dora found Mrs Munch clutching her grey carpet bag as she rushed through the kitchen. "Oh no you don't, Mrs Munch, you have some explaining to do," Dora accosted her.

Dora was her junior by some years, but Mrs Munch was strong. The two women wrestled for some moments, Dora wondering how she could possibly hold her long enough to secure her.

Just then the door opened.

Never in her life had Dora been happier to see her brother. She had suffered from his excesses when he had been a boy, but he had grown into a responsible and caring adult. It was not surprising, considering his bond with John and Marilla, that he had decided to pay Green Gables a call that morning, but his timing was particularly convenient.

The last thing Davy expected to see was his twin sister and the middle-aged housekeeper wrestling in the kitchen. "Davy, help me," requested Dora. Davy leapt to her defense and secured Mrs Munch's arms in his sturdy grip. "Just let me fetch some rope, Davy, and then I'll explain everything. Anne and John are through there," said Dora gesticulating.

She hurried down to the cellar and thanked her lucky stars when she found a length of rope. Davy tied Mrs Munch up, and they left her in the cellar with the door closed to prevent any chance of escape.

By that time Anne had helped John back into his bed and dressed him in pyjamas. He felt embarrassed to have her see him naked, but she placated him, joking that that was the least of his problems. He lay back against the pillows feeling very weak and helpless, yet terribly relieved that the children had come to the rescue. Davy came into the room, sorrowful to see John looking so unwell and weak. He sat down on the edge of the bed and asked John what had happened.

While they were chatting, Dora was inspecting Mrs Munch's carpet bag with interest. She rummaged through the bag, stopping when she felt a small hard object which she drew out and inspected with horror. The small brown bottle was stoppered with a cork, the skull and crossbones on the cover were bad enough, but the word arsenic displayed in large letters across the front told the full story. It was half full.

"Anne," Dora called out as she walked back into the bedroom, "do you know anything about arsenic poisoning?"

"I, I don't know. I I..." Anne stammered in shock, looking at the bottle Dora gingerly proffered in her direction.

"I believe it causes diarrhea, vomiting, confusion and ultimately death," explained Davy, equally horrified.

"Oh, my Lord. Thank Goodness, he's still alive," Anne muttered, hugging John closer. "Is Mrs Munch secure, Davy?"

"Yes, she should be safe down there. I'll fetch the constable shortly."

"Before you do that, could you take John to Rachel's. I think Marilla and he would like to reunite. Would you like that John, dear?"

It was like a balm to John's ears. "Yes please. I don't think I can manage the trip on my own though," he whispered.

"Never you mind, old man, I'll carry you," offered Davy kindly.

Davy placed John beside Marilla in Rachel's spare bed. John felt much relieved to be by her side. Anne, Davy, Dora and Rachel sat around room, on spare chairs or perched on the side of the bed.

"Marilla," John sobbed.

"John," Marilla was cooler in her reception. She recalled the way he turned to Mrs Munch earlier in the week.

"Marilla, look what Dora found in Mrs Munch's bag?" Anne explained as Dora showed them the offending object.

It was just as well Marilla was already laying down, she fainted. They watched in dismay as her eyes rolled back in their sockets as she lost consciousness.

* * *

"So, what now?" Rachel enquired.

After an exhausting fortnight; the ladies were taking tea. The local constable had been summoned to arrest Mrs Munch who had been led away affirming her innocence. The small half-empty bottle putting lie to her protestations.

"Well Mrs Munch is in jail awaiting her trial. The constable thought it was rather an open and shut case. John never suffered a day's illness until she turned up," Marilla explained.

"What about you two, are you going to rely on Millie and Dora to help you out with the housework from now on?" Rachel doubted that was a solution.

"No, I've advertised for another housekeeper, someone closer to home this time. In fact, you can give me some advice, "Marilla riffled through the applications, "Here's a suitable looking woman, she lives in town, so she can leave us alone at night. Her name is Mrs Soigne."

"Is she French? She'll be Catholic, that's what," Rachel declared in horror.

"We're prepared to let that slide, Rachel. There are worse things after all," Marilla replied with a smile as she sipped her tea.


	47. Chapter 47 Ye Shall Be Forgiven

**Ye Shall be Forgiven**

A week later, Rachel's curiosity got the better of her; she put on her hat and made her way up the lane to Green Gables. The first thing she spied upon entering the back door was a prominent crucifix affixed to the kitchen wall. In classic Catholic fashion it depicted a tortured Christ, complete with blood running down His arms and the crown of thorns upon His head. Rachel stared at it in horror until she was interrupted by Mme Soigne herself, asking if she was quite well.

"Pardon me, oh yes, sorry, I'm fine. Is Mrs Blythe at home?" stammered Rachel.

"Yes, she is, and you must be her friend Mrs Lynde, she told me to expect you," replied Mme Soigne in her strong French accent.

Over tea provided by Mme Soigne, accompanied by some delicious little pastries, Rachel whispered, "oh my Lord, Marilla, a crucifix! What's that doing here?"

"You can use your usual voice, Rachel. Don't be silly, Mme Soigne knows we're not Catholic, but she requested she place it here. She says she feels better knowing God is close by, she works better that way. It's unconventional I suppose, but it's not as though I'm worried John or myself will be converted to the papist faith."

"But what about the grandchildren?" Rachel pressed.

"Them too, and really after all we've been through, it's hardly the worst thing in the world."

"I suppose not," agreed Rachel, "it was just a shock though, you understand. I must say these pastries are delicious, so light and fluffy."

"Mm, and dinner last night was like nothing I've ever tasted. She takes a simple casserole and transforms it somehow. I'd love to know her trick."

"Tell me, how is John, is he quite recovered?" enquired Rachel, changing the subject.

"John…," replied Marilla with a large sigh.

"What is it, Marilla? You seem melancholic."

"I just feel so, oh I don't know," Marilla sighed deeply, "I'm just so angry with him."

Rachel walked over to the couch to sit next to her. "Angry?"

"You know he reached out for her."

"He was ill, Marilla, you know he wasn't in his right mind," Rachel patted her hand. "He does love you, you know."

Marilla rubbed her eyes, "I know he does, I know," she sighed again, "but he hurt me very deeply."

"I understand, but you quarreled once before, and you lost each other for an extended time, you don't want to repeat that do you?" Rachel reached out for another one of Mme Soigne's pastries, they really were delicious.

"No," replied Marilla unhappily. But "I can't ignore my feelings either," Marilla gazed towards the plate, but did not take one.

"Have you spoken to him about it?" Rachel enquired.

"Briefly. I get too angry to continue."

"Hm."

"What?" Marilla was curious as to where Rachel's mind had taken her.

"I think we need another opinion, put your hat on, we're going out."

* * *

"Mrs Blythe, come in, come in." Reverend Atkins welcomed her into the presbytery, the room was covered in books and papers, motes of dust danced in the ray of sunlight that broke through the blind. He moved a pile of books away to make room for her to sit down, apologizing for the mess. "What can I do for you today? I understand you and Mr Blythe have been having some problems with your housekeeper."

"Humph, you could say that, she only tried to poison us," exclaimed Marilla.

"My goodness, I did hear something of that sort, but it's resolved now?" the reverend placated her.

At his words, Marilla found herself bursting into tears. He sat across his desk watching her with empathy. Eventually she pulled herself together sufficiently to apologise. "No bother at all Mrs Blythe. That's what I'm here for. I take it, it is not resolved at all then?"

"No-o," Marilla's eyes brimmed over again, but she managed to keep herself from bursting into tears again. "It's just, oh how can I put it without seeming petty? It's just when John was at his lowest, we were sitting together, our housekeeper, Mrs Munch and myself, on either side of his sick bed," Marilla said describing the situation.

"Ah ha," murmured the Reverend.

"I had been out, at Eliza Barry's funeral and I'd left John in Mrs Munch's care, do you see?"

"I do."

"When I came home," Marilla paused, taking a deep breath, "I came to him and he, he, he…" She dabbed at her eyes and nose with her handkerchief, "he, _sniff_ , he…"

"We have all the time in the world," reassured the minister.

"He turned to her, calling to her by her name, Irma," finished Marilla in a sudden rush, not sure she could say it again if ever she were asked.

"And this makes you angry still?"

"I'm afraid I can't get the image out of my head. I know it's sinful not to forgive him, but I worry that deep, deep down he doesn't love me enough."

The reverend pressed the fingers of both hands together as if he were praying and drummed them against his lips, "do you recall Luke 23:34 Mrs Blythe _, then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do._ John was insensible. We can't hold him responsible for his actions."

"I know, I've been praying on it ever since, but I'm just unable to move on. Unable to forgive him."

"I will pray for you both, Mrs Blythe. Please come and talk to me again if you need. It will take time, but I hope you will be able to forgive him, as our Lord forgives us."

* * *

 _4 September  
_ _Green Gables  
_ Avonlea

 _Dear Gilbert_

 _This feels strange, to write to my son asking for relationship advice, but I am out of options and in any case who better to provide advice about the stubbornness of the Green Gable women than your good self._

 _I don't remember much about it, but according to Marilla when I was addled with the poison Mrs Munch administered, I turned to her for comfort rather than Marilla._

 _What can I say, Gilbert? I wasn't in my right mind. I adore Marilla, I've loved her for a very long time. I did love your mother Gilbert, never doubt that, but really Marilla is the one true love of my life. Now she is hurt and holding a grudge against me for actions I had no control over. I feel just terrible about it._

 _She will not speak to me. I try to engage her in conversation, but she walks away and will not discuss it. I feel I am losing her, son. I would give absolutely anything to get her back, but I confess I am at a loss._

 _I don't know what you can do to help, but I just had to reach out to someone. No doubt you will talk to Anne about this, perhaps she will shed some light, for now I am worried and sad. That woman poisoned more than just me with her little glass vial._

 _I hope you can help, son._

 _I remain your loving father,_

 _John Blythe_

* * *

 _7 September_

 _Ingleside  
Glen St Mary_

 _Dear Dad,_

 _I have had a chat with Anne about your situation. As you might expect she and Marilla have been corresponding._

 _We think a vacation might be in order. As a result, I have booked you a room at the White Sands Hotel, I know you've enjoyed yourself there in times past. Perhaps a bit of pampering will lift your mood. It is our treat, Dad. You are booked in on the 12th, I would have made it earlier, but the place is booked solid. I hope you two can find your love again, Dad._

 _All my love,_

 _Your devoted son,_

 _Gil_

* * *

The White Sands Hotel prided itself on providing guests with a charming retreat from the cares of the outside world. Folks came to the stunning hotel on the picturesque little island, downhearted and left with a brighter tune, feeling able to face the world again.

The manager had noticed an elderly couple who came to visit over the past few years. What made him sad on this occasion was their despondent air. Previously they had been full of joy despite their advanced years. Their flirtation and in jokes belied their affection for each other. This time however there was none. He wondered what had gone wrong for Mr and Mrs Blythe? He called the senior staff and ordered them to take especial care of the couple, he himself would keep an eye out on them also.

They were placed in a room on the ground floor as per Gilbert's instructions. Stairs were not easy for either of them these days, though the elevator would have proved useful had Gilbert known of its existence.

The room was well appointed, with an ensuite next door. Marilla recalled the hot running water of their hotel in New York City, and although that convenience was not available on the island, baths were readily obtainable with the help of a few maids.

After lunch, on the second day the staff set the Blythes up in a shady grove, slanted shadows providing a cool spot on a warm day. They sat side by side on a couch, blankets nearby should they get cold and a promise of afternoon tea arriving imminently.

Marilla sat with a gap between them, which to his despair John acknowledged.

"Mar," he began.

"No," Marilla replied. "Not now."

John just sat next to her, suffering.

After a while Marilla sighed, "it's just I know I should forgive you, but it's difficult for me. You wounded me that day."

John sat still, believing there was nothing further he could say, he had apologized profusely already.

"I don't know what to do, John, I really don't? You should have relied on me, but somehow it was her you turned to. Why was that?"

"Mar, I was ill. I mean that's no excuse, I know. I was sick, and Mrs Munch was murmuring words of comfort. I was pretty far gone, you know, but her whispering was very effective."

"Why, what did she say?"

John shuddered, "I can scarcely bear to think of it now," he swallowed the bile down, "things like Irma's here and how it would be better soon. I think she sang lullabies to me too. It sounds ridiculous, but she was a terrific nurse you know," he recalled.

Marilla shot him a sharp glance.

"Not like that, I mean now I know she poisoned me, but I did feel safe with her, at first. And remember I didn't know she was the cause."

"Only at first?"

"Well later she stripped me, you know. Did the girls tell you?"

"Anne may have mentioned it," Marilla responded quietly.

"It made me very vulnerable. When the fog cleared, I admit I was worried. It was just the two of us, you had left me, remember. I was terribly weak, and I didn't know where you were? She lied to me at that point, I think. It was bad enough that she poisoned _me_. I'd hate her to have poisoned _us_ irretrievably," John commented, his eyes cast downwards.

Marilla listened to his words, paused and leaned towards him, grazing her lips against his, feeling the slight stubble on his upper lip, then pressed harder, relishing the touch of his slightly soft lip against hers. It had been too long.

Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.*

The manager spied the couple as he made his rounds, he was delighted to see they were locked in a passionate embrace. He hoped he'd be so happy at their age. A waiter turned up at that moment, and the manager held him by the arm, stopping him from interrupting them, "no need, I doubt they'll be here for long," he advised, sending the man back to the kitchens.

When they pulled apart at last, John took Marilla's hand and with as much speed as they could muster, they left the grove and made their way back to their room. Making the most of the locked door, they enjoyed a particularly delightful afternoon. Later, just before they fell asleep in each other's arms, Marilla expressed her undying love for John, and apologized for her behaviour. He told her he forgave her, and they sleepily kissed some more before their eyes closed. They slept until dinner time, when they dressed and made their way out to the dining room.

On the way to dinner, John spied a promotional bill on the wall, there was to be a magic lantern show the following month, "look Mar, we should bring Davy and Millie with the twins. They'd love it."

"You mean you'd love it, John?" replied Marilla with a smirk.

"Well you know I always love innovations, but I think the boys would be interested too," replied John somewhat defensively.

"Yes, they would love, we should book tickets," responded Marilla with a smile.

* * *

When the week was up, they returned home to their beloved Green Gables; much refreshed and far happier than when they left. Mme Soigne looked up from her cleaning when they returned. There were fresh pastries in the pantry and a hot kettle for tea which she quickly brewed. She told them she had spent the week giving the house a good cleaning, saying with a shake of her head and a quick sign of the cross that her predecessor hadn't been much of a housekeeper, if her cleaning regime had been anything to go by.

"If only that was her only fault, Mme Soigne," Marilla said with a wry laugh, "I can certainly see you've been busy though, thank you. I suppose I should have done some cleaning myself."

"Ah non, Mme Blythe, you paid Mrs Munch to do a job, and it appears she did not do it. I spent a full day dusting and airing upstairs. I don't think she ever went up there. Sit down now, and I will serve tea.

* * *

Thank you for your reviews **Rachellynde** , I really enjoy reading them. As you can see, you were quite perceptive about Marilla's cold shoulder.

* The Princess Bride, William Goldman RIP


	48. Chapter 48 Runaways

For **Elizasky.**

 **Runaways**

John mopped up the last of his sauce with a little piece of bread roll, smearing the plate around in an elaborate whorl leaving just the imprint of cream and popped the lot into his mouth, before he pushed his empty plate back with a sigh. It wouldn't do to say so, but Mme Soigne was a better cook than Marilla.

"Why don't you lick the plate clean while you're at it?" remarked Marilla with a smirk.

John eyed the plate longingly, burping slightly, "pardon me." He had a sip of water as he dipped his finger onto the plate and licked that instead.

They were under orders to stack but not clean the dishes, Mme Soigne was quite firm on that, so after a pause, John placed the dishes in the sink, while Marilla fetched them each a piece of plum pie.

"Admit it, she's a better cook than me," Marilla urged.

"You must think I came down in the last shower, Marilla Blythe if you think I'll ever admit to that," John replied with a smirk. By the flickering lamplight John could make out Marilla's soft eyes regarding him as he neatly sliced off a piece of pie and chewed reflectively.

"Contented?" she asked.

"Better, I'm extremely lucky," he placed his spoon down and reached across the table to take Marilla's hand. Marilla smiled at his touch and together they stood up and made their way to bed.

John undid her buttons slowly, relishing the way Marilla's skin flushed as he gently caressed her back, reaching further and further down as each button popped open. He untied her stays and watched as she relaxed her muscles, straitened by whale bone all day. Once her chemise and skirts were off, Marilla collapsed onto the bed and rolled over to undo John's trouser buttons.

"But really, she is," Marilla stated languidly as she watched her husband work.

John was silent, preferring to trail kisses down her stomach before he pulled the covers over them both, they snuggled together enjoying the sensation of skin on silky skin. A gust of wind blew, rattling the windows and whistling over the roof. Marilla shivered even as John hugged her. "I think perhaps you had better stay at home tomorrow. Davy can fetch Shirley and Anne without you, my darling."

Mme Soigne smiled when she saw the dessert dishes still lying on the table the next morning, hinting at a quick retreat. She liked it when that happened. Her employers were an amorous couple; a state she heartily approved of. Her neighbours often mused about the frigid nature of the protestants they knew, Mme Soigne was happy to disabuse them of that notion.

Agathe Soigne was a proud French-Canadian woman closer to sixty than she liked to admit. Her husband had died many years prior and all but one of her children had grown and moved away. She worked because she needed the income for herself and her son. Victor was capable of being left at home during the day, but it was doubtful he would ever leave. His fate worried her, what would become of him when she died?

She set about boiling the washing water and stacking the dishes quietly. It was about 8am, her employers were still in bed. Glancing up at her crucifix, she blessed herself before she started on the dishes.

* * *

"But Mu-um I already packed," Shirley drummed his heels against the side of the bed as he watched his mother repack his bag.

"I know you did darling, I just want to check you got everything. Aunt Marilla will think I'm an unfit mother if you don't have enough underwear, and anyway you packed three shirts but no pants. Now, do you want Mr Moose?" She suggested, waggling Shirley's beloved toy in her hand. When he looked undecided, not sure if a grown-up boy of eight should be seen with a stuffed moose, Anne kindly said "you might be glad to have a friend when you're all alone in my old bed." Shirley nodded vigorously at that and Mr Moose was tucked in next to his socks.

* * *

Marilla glanced across at her family, their rapt faces lit up by the flickering lights of the magic lantern show. Little Shirley leaning into John's side, Davy and Millie with the twins, Millie's stomach just beginning to show the burgeoning life within though it was hidden by the shadows right now, Dora and Ralph, each with a child on their knee, little Sara sucking her thumb. Marilla had spied the bill poster at the White Sands Hotel the month prior and they had bought tickets for the entire family, presuming, correctly, that it would provide a wonderful outing for the whole family. The children jumped as the scene changed to one of a winged skeleton wielding a bow and arrow, young Sara hid her face in her hands and squirmed into her father's chest. "Is it too frightening for them, do you think?" Marilla whispered to John.

"Shh, I think their parents can judge that for themselves," he bent down to Shirley, "is it too scary for you?" Shirley didn't reply, his mouth agape as he was caught up in the scene.

Afterwards they all bundled out, chatting excitedly about the panoramas they witnessed; even little Sara had sufficiently recovered once the skeleton had been replaced by a fairy in a woodland. John had particularly enjoyed the news about the latest flying machines; two brothers in North Carolina reported that they were close to sustained, controlled flight. Marilla enjoyed the natural history show, she never had seen the Rocky Mountains, they looked magnificent in their wonder.

Davy and Ralph fetched the picnic baskets and they sat on the lawn in a nearby park to enjoy their lunch. "What have you got there, Marilla?" Dora was fascinated by Mme Soigne's neat little pies. "Mme Soigne said they're called tourtières," Marilla explained. "Would you like one? She packed enough for everyone, they look delicious." The little pastries were stuffed with ground pork and covered with flaky pastry. They were messy to eat and delicious.

"Mmm, she can make them for us again any day," commented Davy, as he reached for yet another.

"Davy don't be a pig, how many have you eaten?" exclaimed his sister.

"Mmff, think this is my sixth," Davy replied thickly.

"C'mon boys, you too Shirley, let's play catch," suggested Ralph with a nod to Davy once lunch was over. The boys ran off a ways down the lawn and formed a loose circle. Shirley followed somewhat reluctantly, but he went happily enough after he looked back at his Grandpa John who nodded encouragingly, "off you go, Shirley."

"How are the boys enjoying school, Millie?" Dora enquired.

"Well I was a bit worried, but they love it. Their teacher has really brought them to heel, if you can believe it," laughed Millie, "yet they love her for it."

Marilla smiled, the thought of anyone taming her rambunctious grandsons amused her greatly.

The combination of delicious food and warm sunshine made the ladies and John sleepy. Marilla laid down with her head in John's lap and he lazily stroked her hair. Millie and Dora enjoyed their moments' peace. Little Sara toddled down to the boys as young Henry fell asleep when Dora covered him with a light blanket. All that could be heard was the distant calls of the boys and the buzzing of bumblebees as Marilla let out a gentle snore.

"Mummy we're thirsty," the peace was suddenly broken as the twins ran back up demanding a drink, "shhh, you'll wake your grandmother boys. Here's some water," rebuked Millie as she poured them both a drink.

"Mummy can Shirley come for a sleepover?" whispered Tommy.

"May Shirley come," corrected Millie, absentmindedly.

"Yeah, may he come? Pleeeease, Mummy, can he?" Matty's voice started out loudly but dropped in volume as his mother put her fingers to her lips, looking pointedly at Marilla.

"I'll talk to Marilla about it on the way home," replied their mother.

* * *

"Davy, I wish you'd do something about that dog!" Marilla admonished, as their new puppy, Shep, enthusiastically humped John's leg.

"What's he doing, Aunt Marilla?" Shirley enquired curiously. The twins giggled as Marilla struggled to explain the dog's actions, while John attempted to shake the animal off. Eventually Davy had to pull the animal away by the scruff of his neck before tying him up in the barn.

Marilla kissed Shirley goodbye and John squeezed his shoulder before they drove off, leaving the boys in their wake.

"Let's go exploring," Matty announced early the next morning, "we'll take Shirley too."

"Oh, we'll get in trouble, remember what Mama said in winter?" responded Tommy, practically.

"Well that was back when we were little, now we're almost seven we're practicably grown-ups, Shirley's even bigger in he? If he comes too, we won't get into any trouble," he declared confidently.

"Oh yeah!" Tommy was bursting with the possibilities the older boy's presence leant them, "let's go then." Tommy tip-toed over to Shirley's bed and shook him gently, "We're going on an 'venture, wanna come?"

As quietly as they could manage; if their mother could see them at work, she would be amazed that they could do anything silently, the boys got dressed, stuffed an apple in their pockets and crept out of the house. As soon as they got out of earshot, they whooped and hollered at their sudden freedom, feeling very grownup as they ran down the field.

Fernando the bull lived in the field opposite, they had always feared it, but now with the euphoria of freedom they had enough bravado to taunt him from the other side of the fence. Fernando trotted over, curious about these little but loud creatures. They called the bull silly names and taunted it for a bit, as he looked at them and twitched his ears and tail against the flies.

Bored with the bull, the boys trotted down the lane looking for new adventures. "Where to next, Matty?" asked Tommy.

"Um, how about Barry's pond, we could try the flat?"

"Oh, drat, I forgot my fishing pole."

The boys lay back in the long pasture, inhaling the scent of freshly mown hay from the nearby field as they nibbled the white tips of grass shoots. Shirley rolled over and watched the ants as they industriously carried out whatever chores' ants do; they certainly looked busy as they marched in long lines, one after the other.

"Watcha wanna be when you grow up, Shirley?" Matty asked of his cousin.

"I dunno, a soldier maybe?" Shirley replied thoughtfully. He had never given the subject much thought before. "What about you?" He kicked his feet up, waving them back and forth.

"I want to be a fireman, and Tommy…"

"… wants to be a farmer, like Daddy," finished Tommy. They had an uncanny way of finishing each other's sentences. Shirley had heard his twin sisters behave the same way.

"C'mon I'm bored, let's go to the pond," commanded Matty.

The boys looked across the water, the surface shimmering in the rising heat. "I bet we can wee further than you, Shirley," boasted Tommy.

Without further ado, all boys dropped their pants and, holding on to obtain maximum distance, let loose a pale-yellow stream. It was hard to judge who won, but the competition was fun regardless.

The boys gambolled about the Avonlea hinterland, no real destination in mind, just enjoying their freedom, rushing from one activity to the next. They stopped to eat their apples when they got hungry and rushed off to the next endeavour, plunging further into the forest in search of fun.

* * *

"Hear ye, hear ye, this court is now in session," intoned the clerk.

Irma Munch stood in the dock, her hair was unkempt, and her grubby dress looked about two sizes too small.

"Now this matter is very grave Mrs Munch. You have been charged with attempted murder. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty, indeed, your Honor. If Your Honor only knew how tenderly I cared for…"

"That is enough, Mrs Munch, you may sit down. All I need from you at this stage is your plea. Mrs Munch is being cared for at the Kingsport Mental Asylum is that correct, Mr Carpenter? Pending her mental capacity being assessed."

"Yes, that is correct, Your Honor," the prosecutor, Mr Carpenter, affirmed. "She will stay there until her mental state has been assessed and then will come back to court, if she is deemed fit for trial."

The judge hit the gavel to bring the court to order and moved on to the next case. Irma's straitjacket was secured before she was led away.


	49. Chapter 49 Skylarking

Hello to my guest reviewers, **Rachellynde** and **ImPhilBlake,** thank you for your feedback. I'm so pleased you're enjoying my stories. This one's for my lovely friend **OriginalMcFishie** , she knows why.

* * *

 **Skylarking**

 _Running, dodging, sprinting, pounding, vaulting, ducking, weaving, jumping, leaping, racing_.

A branch whipped him in the face, but so intent was he that he barely noticed. If it weren't for the urgency, he would have said he was enjoying himself, he felt free as a bird, alive, strong, fast, confident as he ran full tilt through the woods. Lungs bursting, stinging, but still he ran, adrenaline taking over when energy ran out.

 _Tearing, hurdling, dodging, weaving, pounding_ headlong through the woods until …

" **Ouf!** "

* * *

"Tommy," Matty asked quietly, "do you know where we are?"

They had had a fun morning thus far. After lolling about in the hayfield, they had jogged to Barry's pond and launched the flat, drifting across the water watching water bugs skate across the surface and looking out for fish below; until they felt rather than heard a gentle scraping as the flat ran aground. Unable to relaunch it from within, they scrambled through the mud to escape, Shirley tripped over in the mud, and covered from head to toe laughed up at the other two, his white teeth flashing out from his blackened face. That looked like fun, so the twins also fell down and they had a glorious mud fight reminiscent of a snowball fight in winter. When their euphoria dimmed, they scrambled out of the pond and later jogging along felt the tightness as the mud dried to a dull grey on their skin, flaking off as they went.

Now deep within the woods, they were thoroughly lost, unable to determine which way was home. Tall trees crowded closely together, their crimson leaves creating a carpet. It had been fun at first, scuffing their way through mounds of leaves, but now Shirley was a little frightened.

"I know," Tommy declared with more confidence than he felt, "I'll climb that big red tree over there and find out how to get out, like Mowgli did."

The maple tree was tall with many branches, well-spaced for climbing, but the lowest branch was too high for Tommy to reach, so Shirley and Matty hoisted him up, so that he was standing on Shirley's shoulders and then using the slightly taller Shirley's head as another stepping stone, Tommy reached up as far as he could, just able to touch the branch. You'll have to throw me a little way, can you manage it?

"Be careful," Shirley and Matty implored him. He hoisted himself up to the branch and straddled it before reaching to the next branch. Climbing was relatively easy and in next to no time he was peeking his head out over the forest canopy. It was fascinating to see the different colours of the trees, especially now it was fall. Red, orange, yellow and crimson leaves stretched as far as he could see, but it was apparent that over in that direction the trees thinned out considerably. That way home must lie, or at least an end to the forest. Taking note of the direction, Tommy turned around and carefully made his way down again.

"Hurry up, I want to go home," Matty ordered.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Tommy protested, as he lost his footing and slipped a few feet. His heart in his mouth, he came to an abrupt stop and watched as a handful of crimson leaves drifted down to the forest floor. He was suspended by his jacket on a small broken-off branch; stuck, dangling 30 feet or so in the air. His well-stitched coat made with such love by his mother turned out to be simultaneously a blessing and a curse.

"C'mon," Matty nagged.

"I can't, I'm stuck." Tommy waved his hands and feet about and tried to reach behind to free himself, but he couldn't reach, he was caught fast.

Shirley and Matty looked at him and then at each other in shock and bewilderment. It seemed Tommy wasn't going anywhere fast. "Now what?" Matty asked.

"I'm the eldest, I'll find help," Shirley decreed, "say Tommy, what direction is home?"

"Um," Tommy was confused, he had got turned around as he made his way down the tree, and now he didn't have the faintest idea where Avonlea lay. He waved vaguely in one direction, "maybe over um there, I think?"

"You stay here with him, Matty," Shirley pointed up at his suspended cousin, "I won't be long," he reassured them, "I hope," he whispered to himself.

* * *

"Boys, it's breakfast time. I've made waffles, come down and eat them before they get cold!" Millie called, surprised they hadn't thundered down the stairs when they smelt the delicious treats cooking. She didn't usually make waffles, but they had company and she felt something special was in order. They had heard of the marvelous creations of Miss Baker, Millie believed the Avonlea cooks had a reputation to uphold. There was no answer, all was silent in the house. Hm, strange, thought Millie, taking her skirts in her hand, she walked upstairs to rouse the boys.

Much to her surprise, while the beds had disheveled sheets strewn about, they were bereft of boy. She called out again, "Matthew! Thomas! Shirley!" Like most mothers, she only used their proper names when absolutely necessary, to invoke authority, but her cries echoed in the empty house. She thought back to the time they went missing in the winter, surely not again? Then she thought about Shirley and felt a little faint, she was responsible for the lad while he slept under her roof. Bad enough to lose her own children, but to lose her nephew as well… Well it didn't bear thinking about. Turning about, she ran downstairs calling for Davy.

* * *

They amassed all the able-bodied men in town and formed a search party. With no idea where the boys were headed, they struck out for the usual haunts, remembering where they had explored when they themselves were young. Barry's Pond was the usual suspect. Everyone dreaded the thought of drowning, and it remained unsaid as they trudged along the track. Davy and Ralph praying they would be all right. "Here!" called Fred Wright, "here's the flat." The sorry looking boat had some water sloshing about in the bottom, but it didn't look like it had quite sunk and, in any case, it had run aground near to shore. Ralph looked at it closely and spied a fresh apple core floating in the bottom rolling around in the dirty water, already going brown from oxidization.

"Look, Davy, this was eaten this morning. Must be them," Ralph declared.

Davy's blood ran cold, they couldn't, not all of them surely?

Another cry went up as someone else found yet another apple core a few yards from the bank. "Oh, thank the Lord," Davy sent up a heartfelt prayer.

The core was found on the way to the forest and the men deduced they had gone that way. Fanning out in a long line, they made their way through the woods, calling out their names and looking for any clues as they went. A third core was found a few yards in, spurring them onwards.

* * *

Millie had sent word to Marilla and John as soon as she knew the boys were missing. They had hurried over to sit in vigil. Sitting in the parlour they reassured each other that the boys were sensible and would keep each other safe. They were empty words, all knew, especially considering the nature of the twins, but they had to be said. Dora made her way over with her children to keep them company and made them all tea. With their untouched drinks cooling on the side tables, they absentmindedly watched Dora's children playing on the floor, each praying desperately that the boys would be safe.

Marilla felt sick. She was responsible for Shirley; how could she ever face Anne again if something happened on her watch? John clutched her hand in comfort, until she pried it loose, feeling sore. "Oh sorry, was that too tight?" John enquired with some chagrin.

"Little bit," Marilla replied, "it gets achy sometimes. I wish I had some of Mme Soigne's salve on me." Mme Soigne had watched Marilla massage her wrist one afternoon and had brought some special eucalyptus salve the very next day, explaining that her neighbour swore by it. Marilla quite liked its unusual aroma and certainly found useful for easing the ache. "Shall I massage it for you," offered John. He gently took the wrist in both hands and rubbed it gently.

"I might have something for it," Millie offered, glad of the distraction as she bustled out to look for her own salve. She located it at the back of a pantry shelf and handed the small pot over to John who smeared a bit on his hands and gently massaged Marilla's wrist, "better?" he asked, after a few minutes.

"Yes," Marilla sighed, as she stretched her arm, "yes, that's a bit better, thank you." They lapsed back into silence, each thinking their own dreadful thoughts, unwilling to give them voice for fear they might come true.

* * *

 **"Ouf!"**

Shirley came to an abrupt stop as he collided with a wide immoveable object. So intent on his trajectory was he, that he failed to notice that it was his Uncle Ralph that he ran smack into. The noise was their combined shock, Shirley actually recoiled slightly as he bounced off his uncle's stomach. "Hey, Shirley. It's all right. You're safe now," soothed Ralph before he let out a loud yell "I've got him, I've got Shirley." He swung the boy up into his arms and hugged him tight. "Where are the others, are they safe? Why are you all alone?"

A winded Shirley struggled to catch his breath, "Un-cle, un-cle Ral-ph. Uncle Ralph," he panted, "it's Tommy, he's st-stuck."

Ralph called Davy over and together they listened to Shirley's explanation. He waved vaguely in the direction he'd just come from. "He's there, he's high, he's trapped."

* * *

They stood around the base of the tree, Millie hugging Matty, Marilla hugging Shirley, all looking up to where the small boy was hanging, suspended from the tall branch. It started to rain, adding to Tommy's misery. The cool raindrops falling onto their faces as they looked skywards.

"The problem is, he's so far up," Davy considered, "I don't want anyone else getting killed trying to rescue him."

* * *

In no time Irma had made plenty of friends in the asylum. She didn't believe she belonged there, but while she was incarcerated, she decided she could help these poor folk. There were many women who needed no more than a kind word or two and someone to care for them. Irma knew just the woman for the job.

The women who shared her room were suspicious at first. This new woman was too solicitous, too kind. They didn't trust people like that, what was in it for her? Maggie McPhee and Julia Bishop had lived in the asylum for years. They endured a love/hate relationship, marked by petty jealousies. When Irma was moved into their room, they endured the intrusion with ill grace. It was not uncommon for Irma to find her pillow or blankets missing. One night a chamber pot was upended over her open trunk; but she kept her cool, always talking to the other women politely. She made some suggestions to make their life easier and in time they fell into line. Julia would do anything for Irma, as would Maggie. They forgot they had ever judged her, Irma was their mistress and they did her bidding. Anyone who attempted to cross Irma would have her ladies to contend with.

In turn Irma cared for them. She greeted them warmly each morning and rubbed their feet at night. Throughout the day she talked, keeping up their spirits with a constant stream of newsy chatter. She explained that she was there under false pretences. Her previous employer had been a wicked woman with an invalid husband. It was jealousy that brought her here, nothing less. Irma had cared for John so assiduously, but spiteful Marilla had had her incarcerated out of malice. She took great pleasure in describing the handsome man, now laid low with illness and how he had been trapped into marriage with some old harridan he had known as a younger man. She tut tutted as she mused about how worried she was for him, how would he cope without his Irma to take care of him?

The women lapped it up, they knew few women actually belonged in the asylum, all too often placed there against their will by spiteful husbands. Maggie's husband had put her there so many years ago she no longer remembered, for a reason she no longer knew either. She had forgotten how he looked, it had been so long. At first Maggie longed to leave and spent all her hours planning her escape, but now she was institutionalised and felt at home within the bare grey walls of the asylum. It was boring though, Irma alleviated that with her gay chatter all day long. Most of it was probably nonsense, but it passed the time.

Julia was more gullible, she believed every word Irma uttered. What a terrible woman her employer must have been, fancy sending someone to the asylum out of jealousy. If she had had a chance she would have killed Marilla Blythe on her darling Irma's say so. Of course, she reflected one night, at least Mrs Blythe's actions did mean she got to meet Irma. If it had not been for that horrid woman, she would not have Irma in her life, she wept a little at the thought, wiping her eyes and sniffling in her bed. Irma loved her, she was sure of that. It was heartwarming to have a lovely lady like Irma looking after her. She was like the mother Julia had lost.

The staff too, appreciated Irma's presence. She calmed the inmates down. They were all happier, less agitated with her in their presence. She kept everyone entertained with her stories and mothered the lot of them. The nurses lulled into a sense of security, started giving her small responsibilities. She had said she liked to bake, the Matron thought perhaps she'd take Irma up on that one day. They could all do with some delicious treats.


	50. Chapter 50 Scorpion

**Scorpion**

 _Note to self, when you put a character in a tricky spot, think about how you're going to rescue them first._

 _This will most likely be my last chapter until Christmas, so I'd like to wish all my readers a safe and merry Christmas. No getting poisoned or stuck up trees, okay._

* * *

Now I'll just add a little bit of vanilla and some more sugar I think, and just another glug for good measure, no point not having enough. What shall I say, that I'm thinking of my figure? Or nothing at all, it's so seldom anyone gets cake in here. I'm sure they'll gobble it up, without noticing that I'm avoiding it myself. I'm never very hungry for my own cooking, oh I shouldn't laugh, what a silly thing to say.

Look, it's a work of art, that icing looks delicious. I'm sure most of them have never seen anything so fine, almost seems wrong to sacrifice something so beautiful. Well sacrifice or not, this cake won't eat itself, so I'll just cut it up and share it out. What time is it now? Hmm ten past twelve. I'll just give it a couple of hours and then I'll be in my happy place.

 _Charlottetown Gazette  
_ _18 October_

 _A virulent case of food poisoning broke out at the Mental Asylum on Wednesday. The inmates were seized with powerful pains in the stomach and violent fits of vomiting and diarrhoea._

 _Over 20 inmates were afflicted, several are close to death, and it has proved fatal in six cases so far. Authorities are at a loss to explain the cause._

 _/./././_

 _Charlottetown Gazette  
_ _25 October_

 _It has come to light that the cause of the food poisoning in the Mental Asylum last week was a cake laced with arsenic baked by an inmate._

 _A full investigation will be carried out to ascertain how the accused came to be in possession of the arsenic and given access to the kitchens._

 _Sadly, several more inmates have died of their afflictions. The death toll so far is fifteen, including two members of staff._

* * *

"Daddy! Mummy! I wanna get down! Help!"

Millie's heart broke when she heard her boy's plaintive cries. John walked over and enveloped her in a big hug, murmuring words of comfort. They would do their best, but Tommy was in a precarious spot.

Davy and the other men stood around scratching their heads. "How about we," said one, "we could..." But he lapsed into silence as the idea wasn't feasible.

Mme Soigne turned up with a basket of food, her aromatic rosemary scent preceding her, "I thought you might be here a while, so I brought some sandwiches for you all," she explained.

Shirley tugged his Grandpa's jacket a couple of times, until John looked down, "Grandpa, I have an idea."

John knelt down to hear the idea, nodding as Shirley explained it to him. Standing up, he walked over to have a quiet word with Milty Boulter. Davy heard and wanted to be the one to rescue his boy, but John said, "No, Davy. It has to be someone else, someone out of the family."

"He's my boy, John. It should be me," Davy explained frantically.

"No darling," replied Marilla who had overheard the exchange, "it can't be, you see. If anything happened to Tommy, you'd never get the sight out of your head and you'd blame yourself forever. You need someone more impartial, it'd be like asking Gilbert to operate on one of his children, he can't do it. Leave this one to Milty, and just be here to hug Tommy when he returns to earth." Davy turned to her, tears in his eyes but he nodded and went to stand with his wife and son, the three of them desperately looking up at the small figure suspended so high.

"I'm sorry Aunt Marilla," Marilla was sitting with Shirley, eating one of Mme Soigne's delicious sandwiches, as they watched the men rig the ropes up the tree, carefully checking and rechecking them, making sure they were secure.

"Mm, darling?"

"Sorry that we ran away," Shirley explained.

Marilla looked at her small remorseful grandson with a kind smile, "there, there Shirley. Don't worry, the main thing is you fetched help. I would have hated it if you'd gone up too."

"I couldn't reach the bottom branch, Tommy needed both of us to get started." Shirley stated dispassionately.

Marilla shuddered, suddenly the knowledge that the only reason Shirley was safe was because of the lack of a low hanging branch was even more precarious than she imagined. "Oh darling," she clutched tight to him.

Milty started by climbing the tree, carrying a skein of rope slung over one shoulder, not heading directly for Tommy, but instead for a spot above him and around the other side. Remembering to keep close to the trunk where the tree was strongest, he swiftly made his way up into the crown. "Mr Boulter," Tommy called, "I'm scared."

"I know you are, son. You're being so brave," Milty calmed him, "just a little while longer, I'm going to get you down."

Milty tied one end of the rope firmly to the branch above Tommy and dangled the other end towards him. First tying some rope around himself and then to the branch above him, Milty reached out to around Tommy's midriff and tied the rope tightly around him a few times and between his legs too, so he couldn't slip out. Carefully he reached out along the top branch, so he could grab a handful of Tommy's shirt and carefully lift him off; the folks below praying as they watched every move, a cheer went up when they saw that Milty had lifted the boy and had him in his hands. Then slowly he lifted Tommy back up to his branch, "I've got him," he called down, there was a collective sigh of relief.

Then it was just a matter of them two of them carefully making their way down the tree. Davy and Millie rushed forwards as they reached the lower branches and Davy gratefully held his arms out for his lad when he was low enough. Tommy burst into tears and hugged his parents tightly, telling them he wanted to go home. Davy pumped his oldest friend Milty's hand enthusiastically and the two men hugged, "I can't thank you enough, Milty," Davy said with tears in his eyes.

"It was my pleasure, Davy. Anytime you need a boy rescued, I'm your man. How long have we been friends? You'd do the same for mine."

"Of course, of course, though I hope I never have to."

* * *

In the bath that night Marilla was soaping Shirley's muddy back, "I never thought I'd see your mother, or your uncle Davy beat for pranks, Shirley Blythe, but I think you three boys have bested them. Did you have a nice day before you got lost?"

A small "yes" around a muffled sob.

Marilla moved around to face the boy and cupped his face in her hand, "Come now, everyone is safe and I'm sure you've learned your lesson. Tell me what you got up to?" she recoiled as the wet boy tried to hug her, and putting her hand up said, "we can hug when you're dry, darling."

Shirley grinned and said, "well we chatted with the bull, and went for a row and saw some fish, then we had a mud fight."

"So, I see," replied Marilla dryly, gesticulating at the dark bath water.

"How's Shirley? John asked later that evening.

"Suffering, I think he needs a word from his favourite grandpa."

"What? He knows I'll always love him?"

"Yes, but he'd like to hear you say it one more time all the same. She patted John on the shoulder, "go and tuck him in."

John found Shirley hugging his Mr Moose, awfully glad his mum had made him pack it. There were times even a big boy of eight needed his friend.

"Shirley?" John sat down on his bed, noticing how he was clutching the toy.

"Grandpa, I'm sorry for making you worry," Shirley sobbed in his grandfather's arms.

"Darling, sh sh, it's all right now. You're all safe and sound and that's what matters. Tell me what did you do on your day out?"

"I told Aunt Marilla most of it."

"Only most of it?"

"Well we did some boy stuff I didn't think she'd understand, you know, being a girl and all."

John smiled, "no I expect not. What was the boy stuff, then?"

Shirley blushed, "we had a weeing competition."

"A what now, a weeing competition? Oh my, who won?"

"Um, I'm not sure, we were all laughing too much."

"We used to have them too, when I was a lad. Don't tell Marilla, it'll be our secret," John laughed, then sobered up, "I was very proud of you, you know."

"Proud of me?" Shirley sounded incredulous.

"Yes, you were very level headed, you found your Uncle Ralph, and you gave me the idea for the rescue. How did you come up with that solution?"

"I read about something like that in a book once. You have to come from above, or you can drop them. I didn't want Mr Boulter to drop Tommy, Tommy is my cousin and my _friend,"_ he declared proudly

"Well you did very well, you're a good lad to have in a crisis, Shirley, you keep your head," John kissed Shirley on the forehead and gave Mr Moose a kiss on his nose, which made Shirley smile. "You must be exhausted now, it's time to go to sleep. No more running off in the morning, though, if you don't mind," John requested.

"No fear, Grandpa, I think I'll stay here with you and Aunt Marilla."

"There's a good lad. Shirley?"

"Yes Grandpa," Shirley sleepily replied.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Grandpa." John picked up the lamp and tip-toed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Shirley watched him go, feeling very safe and sound and most of all loved. It had been a busy day, so he snuggled down on his pillow, closed his eyes and went straight to sleep, clutching Mr Moose tightly.

"All good?" Marilla asked John as he made his way downstairs and sat down beside her.

"Yes, we had a nice chat. I'm very proud of him."

"I would have preferred he hadn't gone off in the first place," Marilla replied with a hint of complaint in her voice, stretching her legs.

"Yes, but we have to allow our children some freedom. Up until they got lost, they were doing just fine."

"Sounds like they had a busy day, did he tell you all about it."

"He told me a bit."

"About the mud fight?"

"I could guess at that, considering the state of his clothes."

"Yes, I've got his shirts and pants soaking in the tub as we speak. Did you see the state of the bath water? It was black."

"The sign of a good day," John responded with a yawn, he looked over at Marilla, "What?"

"Poor Davy and Millie, I think those boys' exploits took a decade off their life. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on Davy's face when he got his boy safe in his arms."

"Yes, our boys certainly shave the years off with their exploits, still I survived Gilbert and you Davy, I'm sure they'll be fine. Shall we go to bed ourselves, I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted," said John as he blew out the candles.


	51. Chapter 51 Exoneration

_Inquiry into the Charlottetown Mental Asylum poisoning_

 _...Thus it is the finding of this report that the instigator of the poisoning was Geraldine McDonald. She had access to the poison cupboard and to the kitchen. This report concludes that it was she who dropped half the bottle of arsenic into the cake mixture whilst the baker, Irma Munch had her back turned. McDonald will be tried for murder._

 _Whilst there was some conjecture that Munch was the poisoner, it is evident by the tender care she administered to the afflicted that this cannot have been the case. It makes no sense for a person to harm if they also nurture, and as a result Munch is hereby exonerated of those suspicions and in fact a further enquiry will be held as to the necessity of her incarceration._

 _It is not possible or practical to ban poisons from the asylum; rats and other vermin abound and will always require management. However, henceforth poisons will be kept locked up in a cupboard and only senior staff will have access to a key..._

* * *

After what could only be described as a busy time over the last few months, Marilla and John were pleased that life was settling down. Mme Soigne cared for them most wonderfully. She had high standards for cleanliness and her cooking was unsurpassed, even Marilla had to admit.

One sunny warm afternoon Marilla was happily weeding in the vegetable patch. She sat on a stool and bent over to pull the weeds out and trimmed anything that required it. It was satisfying work, making the unruly patch neat again. She had already amassed a pile of beans to accompany that night's dinner. Brushing her hand over her red face, she looked up as she heard a cry of, "Marilla!" and shielded her eyes, as she saw Rachel hurrying up the lane, skirts hitched in her right hand, a newspaper tucked under her left arm, "Marilla!"

"Goodness, whatever can it be, Rachel? Marilla stood up at her approach, "what makes you come rushing up the lane this fine afternoon?" Rachel Lynde was not known for her speed.

Rachel bent over to catch her breath, panting heavily she thrust the newspaper into Marilla's face, proclaiming "look!"

Marilla's red face paled as she read the front-page article and she sat back down on her stool heavily.

 _Report of the arsenic poisoning episode at Charlottetown Asylum_

 ** _Accused exonerated._**

 _The woman initially accused in the arsenic poisoning case, has been found not guilty by an in-camera inquiry._

She quickly scanned the rest of the article which outlined the findings of the report and concluded that Irma Munch would be released later in the week, while another woman had already been tried and was to hang for the offence. She looked up at Rachel, "Oh my Lord!"

"Come up to the house, I need to read it through carefully," Marilla gathered the beans in her apron and walked through the garden gate, carefully locking it behind her. Arm in arm the women walked towards the house. Mme Soigne heard them as they sat down on the veranda chairs and appeared as they sat down. Wordlessly Marilla handed over the beans. "Is anything the matter?" enquired Mme Soigne, her employer seemed upset.

"She has had some bad news Mme Soigne," explained Rachel, "your predecessor has been released."

"Mon dieu" replied Mme Soigne, crossing herself, "surely not! I will bring tea."

Over her tea, Marilla slowly read the report again, taking note of the language used and the implications thereof.

"What shall we tell John?" Rachel enquired.

"Leave it to me, I'll have to tell him gently. He's got a slight cold, he's asleep right now."

After dinner that night, Marilla broke the news. John had not been to town for some days due to his cold and had thankfully missed the news. He had taken himself back to bed after dinner and Marilla followed him there. "John," she started.

"Mmm?"

"Rachel came up this afternoon," Marilla sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing her hands in her lap.

"Uh huh," John was not much interested, he was tired, he just wanted to sleep.

Marilla licked her lips nervously, "yes, she had some news," she continued quietly. John was silent. "Mrs Munch has been released, an inquiry determined that she had been wrongfully accused. She did such magnificent work during their outbreak that they believe she must be innocent," Marilla reached out her hand to John's shoulder, but he rolled away and curled up into a tight ball, remaining silent. The clock tolled the hour and when the last chime sounded, she heard John whisper, "I was frightened you know."

"Frightened? When?"

"Of Mrs Munch", whispered John.

"Oh, darling. Tell me."

"It's just I woke up, you know I'd been so unwell. Mrs Munch had been caring for me, I thought I could trust her. But I, but I, I, I couldn't. When I came to, when the fog cleared, you weren't there, I wanted you Mar, I needed you, Mar-illa," his voice caught in a sob, "I needed you, but I didn't know where you were."

Marilla climbed onto the bed and under the covers and squeezed his body tight. She could hear her blood roaring, the only sound in the room, apart from John's sobs. After a minute or so, he continued, "she was really scaring me, I didn't know what she was going to do next and I was so very weak, I was worried she'd do something."

"She did do something, John."

"Yes, but I worried she'd do something worse."

"But then the cavalry arrived."

John turned to her and smiled, caressing her face with his hand, "yes! Thank goodness for them all. Hug me, Mar, just hug me, I need you."

"I do feel so very guilty about that time John," Marilla spoke into his chest, "you were still recovering and I was so upset." John stroked her hair. "I should have been more understanding. It was wrong of me."

"Shh, shh," he calmed her, "shh."

* * *

Irma clutched her familiar grey carpetbag, blinking in the sudden bright light, as the door of the asylum clanged shut behind her.

Much to her relief she had been released. They had bathed her and given her a new, if second hand, set of clothes. She felt the material between her fingers, good quality, if rather outmoded, probably from some woman of a couple of years ago. Without a backward glance at the high walls Irma confidently strode out into the bustling world of the Charlottetown high street.

She had listened with growing satisfaction when the matron had called her into her sitting room. In contrast to the stark wards, the room was bright and cosy. Bucolic paintings of summery scenes upon its walls and every surface festooned with knick knacks carefully placed on doilies. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace and a cat purred beside it, lying in a fur-lined basket. In short, it resembled nothing more than an upper-class parlor, instead of a room within the walls of the asylum. "Tea?" enquired the matron? Irma sipped the hot drink, but declined the cake, even though she had not baked it. She had rather gone off cake.

The Cake Incident had been a monumental event in the lives of all asylum inmates. Irma had been worked off her feet as she cared for the afflicted, it had been wonderful. Sadly, she had lost some patients, her roommates Maggie and Julia had been greedy. They had split an extra piece of cake between them and both had been too ill to save. Irma still remembered their vomit spattered cheeks, as they spewed the contents of their stomachs out. She mourned both women briefly, but honestly their own greed brought them down. If they had stopped at just one piece of cake each, instead of taking more than their fair share, they might have stood a better chance. Irma suspected their ravaged bodies would have been flung into a paupers pit along with the other victims. No matter, she was tiring of their small mindedness and sycophantic attention. Irma watched dispassionately as McDonald had been lead away, protesting her innocence. Good riddance, she thought. She had never liked the woman.

Jingling the coins in her pocket that she had been handed upon her release, she walked over to a paper boy and bought a copy of the newspaper. She had to get herself sorted again, a new position should be easy enough to locate. The matron had given her an excellent reference.

* * *

A gentleman stood on the corner watching her. She emerged confidently from the asylum doorway, stopped for a moment to gain her bearings, then strode away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.


	52. Chapter 52 Tempest

_**Tempest**_

 _ **Kingston Chronicle**_

 _An unexpected death at Kingston._

 _At Kingston, on Monday, the district coroner held an inquiry into the suspicious death of Michael Land, 43 years of age, a miller. On Friday July 19th the man was discovered dead on the floor of his residence by a customer trying to buy some flour. The body was covered in ordure and a post mortem examination was to the effect that death might have been due to diarrhoea. His housekeeper who was the only living occupant of the house stated that her master had been well the previous day. A verdict was returned that death was believed to be due to rampant diarrhoea leading to dehydration._

 _*.*.*_

The comforting sound of rain drummed on the roof. Water drops chased each other in bands until they met, creating rivulets running down the window to the gutters, then gurgling down the drainpipes. There really were few things nicer in this world than snuggling next to your husband in a warm bed, while the rain poured down outside.

But Marilla had never liked storms, the rain already intense, grew louder. At the first low rumble of thunder, John felt her shudder and firmed his grip upon her, murmuring soft words of comfort. Marilla jumped as the thunder crashed, closer than ever. "Shh" he murmured into her hair, "it's just a storm. I have you." The lighting momentarily illuminated the room in sharp relief, but with a trembling Marilla in his arms John paid it no mind, whispering soft words of comfort into her hair. The rain drummed down harder than ever, but he believed the old house would keep them safe, he hoped Marilla knew it too. Another long rumbling boom had her squirm closer if that were possible, her eyes closed tightly and pressed into his chest. "Count with me," he suggested "one, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand…" Marilla listened to him, but did not trust herself to speak. **Crash,** the thunder boomed as Marilla jumped, "one, one th..." there it was, an ear-splitting **boom** this time, possibly directly over the house. Marilla actually shrieked and lay trembling in John's arms. The next rumble was a bit further away and the next further away still, and so the storm passed and the rain abated. John felt Marilla's heart rate and breathing slowly subside until she fell asleep in his arms.

His beautiful, strong wife still had her vulnerabilities and he loved her for them. He kissed her temple gently before he moved his arms out from under her and fell asleep by her side.

After their broken nights' sleep, John popped out in the gloom of dawn and hastily scrawled a note for Mme Soigne _Breakfast in bed, scrambled eggs, S.V.P._

When she arrived, Mme Soigne read the note and grinned. They certainly liked their eggs, these two. After popping a couple more logs in the stove, she cracked some eggs in a bowl and whisked them deftly before cutting up some bread. Once it was cooked, she placed the breakfast on a tray and carried it over to the bedroom door then knocked gently, before she set it on the floor and walked back to the kitchen. She heard the door crack open and the tray dragged inside, but out of modesty did not turn to watch; remembering happy mornings like that in her own past. She was just pleased her lovely employers were able enjoy moments such as this, even now.

Inside the room, Marilla was stirring, still rather groggy. John walked over to the window and opened the curtains to reveal a sunny morning, the storm had blown itself out and the world looked crisp and new after the rain. Marilla lazily watched him as he walked over with the tray. "What a delightful surprise, when did you organise this?"

"In the wee sma's," John explained as he loaded up a forkful of egg, grinning at his wife. Using her elbows to leverage herself up, she stuffed a spare pillow under her back and lay back expectantly. John always did have a knack for eggs.

* * *

Mme Soigne carried precious cargo on her trip to work a few days later; a piece of art so intricate and beautiful that she wanted to hang it on the Blythe's kitchen wall; she hoped they would not object. Their house was in view now with its green gables catching the morning sun; it looked particularly beautiful, set in amongst the trees. It was a pretty house she thought, as she strode towards it; and the couple within were very pleasant to work for.

Marilla came out for breakfast an hour later, tucking a stray hair or two back into her bun as she walked into the kitchen. She stopped as she spied the new fixture upon the kitchen wall, "what is that?" she asked Mme Soigne, pointing at it.

"Ah, oui, that is a drawing by my son, Victor. I hope you don't mind my putting it up. I thought it was particularly good."

"No, I don't mind at all," Marilla walked over to examine the drawing more closely. It was a detailed rendition of local road, "It's the Avenue isn't it?"

"In spring. He's always loved it."

"My Anne fell in love with it when she arrived in Avonlea. She christened it The White Way of Delight."

Mme Soigne laughed, "somewhat of a romantic then?"

Marilla glanced at her with a smile, "absolutely. Her head was always in tall towers waiting for her prince to arrive. Drove me a little bit crazy actually, she was always burning things and making mistakes as her daydreams preoccupied her. She told my brother Matthew that the Avenue was the first thing she'd seen that couldn't be improved upon by imagination. Say, Mme Soigne, do you think Victor could do another drawing of the Avenue for me? I'd send it to Anne for her birthday, I know she would be delighted."

"Goodness, he doesn't usually take commissions, but I will ask him."

"I am prepared to pay for it," Marilla urged.

"Oh, it's not necessary," Mme Soigne protested.

"Of course, it is," Marilla said as she took her seat at the table, "talent like his should be recompensed, you never told me he could draw like that?"

"Have I told you about Victor?" Mme Soigne enquired as she sat down at the table, drawing the sugar over for her coffee.

"No, I know he exists, of course, but you've never described him to us."

"Victor suffered from scarlet fever when he was a baby."

"Oh dear, that can be nasty, I believe?"

"Oui. He survived, but he is deaf and dumb. As you can see, however, he is a talented artist."

"Oh, I am sorry," Marilla patted her hand, "how old is he?"

"He is twenty-nine. He lives with me and draws all day long, he is always drawing. I spend half my wages on his art supplies."

"Does he sell much of his work, then?"

"No. No one we know has any spare money to waste on art."

"Goodness, well if he would draw the Avenue for Anne, I will certainly pay him for his work."

"Thank you, Mrs Blythe. I will ask him, now I'll just get on with the floors. I think they're due for a clean," Mme Soigne pushed up from the table with her hands, put her cup in the sink and fetched the mop.

* * *

"Right, have you got everything you need?" Marilla enquired, from her perch in the buggy.

"I'll be fine, Mme Soigne will be here soon. You go, I'll see you soon."

"If you're sure?"

"Yes, go. Millie needs you by her side."

"Don't you need me too?"

"Always, my love," John replied with a kiss on her hand, "now go and don't forget to give Millie my love." With a smile Marilla shook the reins and clucked the horse to get moving. Millie's mother had succumbed to fever the previous year, so Marilla had offered to help her through the labour.

Marilla always marvelled at the way a pregnant woman's centre of gravity shifted. Leaning back slightly, and rubbing her stomach, Millie appeared in the doorway dressed in a voluminous skirt, hair unkempt; as Davy helped Marilla down from the carriage. "Darling, let me look at you?" Marilla greeted her daughter in law.

"I feel terrible," Millie replied with a grimace, "I can't sleep, I'm itchy, I need to visit the privy every five minutes and the baby is kicking my lungs." Marilla bustled in, determined to help the poor girl any way she could. The twin boys appeared from around the corner, "good afternoon, Grandma," they called in unison. The rambunctious boys had settled down momentarily after their fright a few months ago, but that had not lasted long. The Boulters had kindly offered to take them when Millie entered labour, but until then Davy and Marilla would be in change with Mme Soigne providing the cooking. Millie being deemed too large to do anything practical.

During the day the women prepared the nursery, ensuring the bassinet and the baby's clothes were ready. There were plenty of diapers left over from the boys, but Marilla made sure they were ironed. She reported she wasn't quite as big as she had been the first time, leading them to hope there was just a single baby this time. Other times Millie lay on the sofa or in her bed as Marilla kept her company, knitting, reading, chatting or rubbing her calves and feet. They were sure it was just a matter of days. Anne sent an encouraging letter, which Millie received with appreciation.

* * *

"Mmmuhmmm. Mmmm."

"Breathe through the pain, darling."

Millie was in labour. Her sweat slicked hair stuck to her face and neck as she panted through her mouth. Marilla had her braced in her lap, mopping her brow. The midwife was down the other end.

It had been several hours since Millie had gasped with a sudden sharp pain and they both watched as liquid trickled out from between her legs. After a moment of shock they adjusted their plan for the day, Marilla called for Davy. He collected the boys and took them to Milty's place and on to fetch the midwife, Mrs Wren.

Marilla was left with Millie, rather pleased that things were moving at last, "now darling we'll just take it at your pace. Where do you want to be?" Obviously, Marilla had never experienced this process first hand, but she had witnessed Anne's laboring, and apparently Millie and Dora's too, though she had no memory.

"I'll just walk around for a while, I think," panted Millie. She remembered this part from last time. The longer she could walk, the better.

"Of course, darling. Can I fetch you anything?"

Millie shook her head as she pursed her lips, overtaken by yet another contraction. She swayed back and forth with her eyes closed until it lifted. Marilla boiled some water to fill the time, it always seemed to be required during labour; and generally tidying up. When the first contraction had abated, Marilla suggested Millie change into a nightgown for the comfort and ease it afforded.

Mme Soigne appeared half an hour later with a basket of food. She sat with Marilla and Millie for a while, sharing stories about her own labouring experiences and watching with pity while a succession of contractions overcame Millie. Mrs Wren, arrived after a while with Davy, ordering him out of the house, this was women's work. Mme Soigne wished Millie luck as she excused herself. She had to get home to prepare John's dinner.

"Now, Millie, I'd like to get you into bed so I can examine you. Mrs Blythe, will you help?" requested Mrs Wren.

Both women assisted Millie into the bed, easing her back and swinging her legs around so that she was laying down. Millie drew her knees up and opened them. Lifting her nightgown, Mrs Wren examined Millie and peeked out from under the gown with a smile, "all good, you are labouring wonderfully, Mrs Keith. Have you names picked out?"

Marilla was curious, she hadn't liked to ask beforehand. "Um, Arthur James if it's a boyyyy," she paused as another contraction overtook her, "and Marilla Anne if she's a girl," Millie panted once it was over, with a fond look at her mother in law.

Marilla blushed and waved her hand, saying "oh, you don't want to saddle any child with my name, I assure you."

"We do, we want your name to belong to our baby, Marilla. You've been so good to us both. It was Davy's suggestion."

Marilla felt a tear at her eye, and wiped it away impatiently, saying "well I hope he's a boy then, Arthur is a fine name."

"Still a while to go, I'm afraid Mrs Keith," Mrs Wren cautioned as she examined her once more. "Do you want to walk around a bit more?"

Millie nodded and shuffled over to the side of the bed. The women helped her up and walked around the room with her, stopping when necessary, until she could walk no more, the contractions being too close together and too painful.

"Just breathe through it Millie," Marilla soothed her.

"I can't, I can't Marilla, I just can't do it! Why did we ever decide to have another baby? Oh I just can't," Millie sobbed a few hours later, feeling the sweat trickling between her breasts, her whole body a glow.

"Shh shh, I know darling," Marilla wiped her brow, "you're nearly there, Millie, you're so close,"

"No no, I can't, I've changed my mind. Marilla, I've changed my mind, I caaaaaggghhnnnntttt," Millie screamed as another contraction bore down upon her. The women looked at each other with a grimace, Millie's screams were loud and high pitched.

"I can see the baby's head. Look blond hair, I can see blond hair, we're nearly there, Mrs Keith. Come and look Mrs Blythe, come and see your grandchild." Marilla looked on in amazement as the wee body of her brand new grandson slithered out in a wet mess. The baby covered in white waxy stuff, "vernix," explained the midwife as she cut the cord. She wrapped him in a flannel and handed the baby over to Marilla, he was so small, she looked into his wee face, dark blue eyes gazed directly into her own and she was immediately smitten. Somewhat reluctantly, she handed him over to Millie so she could hold him against her chest. Millie sobbed as she looked down at the perfect face, marvelling at his perfect fingers and toes.

"I'm just waiting on the afterbirth, Mrs Keith. Then we'll get you cleaned up. If we could have some warm water, Mrs Blythe? You might help me wash Mrs Keith?" Mrs Wren suggested.

With a fond backwards glance at mother and baby, Marilla walked out to the kitchen. It was late, very late but she felt only elation rather than exhaustion. Davy was sitting by the stove, a massive grin on his face. He had heard the cries and surmised that all was well. "A boy, darling, another boy," Marilla told him.

"Just the one?" With a laugh, Marilla assured him that there was. "Can I see her?" Davy asked, eagerly.

"Soon, darling," she kissed him on his cheek, "soon. We're just getting them cleaned up. Then you can go to her."

"What does he look like, tell me. I want to know," he said in mimicry of his boyish ways.

"He has masses of blond hair, the sweetest little nose, and deep blue eyes."

"Artie, my little Artie," admired Davy some time later, looking down at his son in his arms and across at his wife, "you are so clever, Mill."

* * *

Hiram McIlroy had been a private investigator for many years. Hiding in doorways and alley was his _modus operandi_. He had been following the exploits of one Irma Munch for years now as she tracked across the island and even over to Nova Scotia. By his count she may have murdered dozens, even before she had landed in the asylum. Gathering evidence was not easy. Many of her alleged victims were dead, their relatives believed they had been the victim of plain bad luck. Hiram plotted out the deaths, where she may have been at the time and in whose employ. Despite her prominent birth mark, Irma was easy to lose, but he was patient. She had already proved wily and manipulative. He desperately wanted definitive proof of her wrong doing before he reigned her in.


	53. Chapter 53 Remember, remember

_Content warning for **death,** grief and depression._

 **Remember, remember the fifth of November**

* * *

Agathe Soigne arrived home the evening after Mrs Blythe asked for an extra copy of Victor's drawing. She was pretty sure the woman genuinely wanted the picture, she wasn't asking just to be polite. Agathe believed her employer wasn't the type to ask for pity's sake. Mrs Blythe honestly seemed to like the piece. Agathe did, however, wonder what Victor's reaction would be?

She always felt sorry for her son, he would never know the joy of listening to music, or bird song or speech. Communication was always a struggle for him. They had a rudimentary sign language, but others did not; this kept him isolated. It was imperative for her to drum the importance of reading and writing into him and from an early age she started him on his letters. Prior to that, it had been a challenge and he would scream in frustration, unaware of how much noise he made.

Victor looked up for the kitchen table when she appeared. He hated being surprised, so he never worked with his back to a door, in any case he knew roughly when she was due home. The table and the floor beneath were strewn with discarded papers. Evidently he was working on something new. Judging by the mess, it wasn't working.

Some might say he was a handsome tall man, his broad shoulders were topped by handsome face, bright blue eyes were striking as they glinted out through his long black hair. He was continually wiping hair from his eyes as he bent down drawing, painting. Agathe thought he should cut it, but he liked it, he could hide behind his locks. His bushy beard also troubled her, but again he was too stubborn to listen to her. She never could tell if the beard came from laziness or a genuine desire to grow it.

During harvest time, when it was all hands on deck, a man of Victor's strength was a valuable resource in town. No one minding much that it was impossible to chat with him. A farmer would point him in the direction of the crop and Victor could be relied upon to harvest it, working like a machine. He brought in good money in those months and he said it provided him with inspiration for his art for months afterwards.

Agathe sat down by him and pulled a crumpled piece of paper over and asked for his pen. Then writing swiftly, told him that Mrs Blythe had liked his painting of the Avenue, and requested a spare copy for her daughter. Victor looked at her incredulously, no one had ever commissioned a painting before, roughly he shook his head, no. Agathe pressed him, telling him what a wonderful opportunity it might be. He stood up suddenly, scraping the chair back and swiftly walked out of the house.

"Victor," she called after him, "com..." eh it was useless, even after all these years she could forgot the futility of calling after a deaf man. Oh well, Victor wasn't a small boy, he could look after himself. Turning back inside she set about tidying up his papers, though she knew from past experience not to throw anything out.

* * *

 _Remember, remember the fifth of November._ It was bonfire night, Guy Fawkes, commemorating the Irish plot to blow up the English Houses of Parliament. For the past few years the Davy and Millie had held a party, using the night as a chance to catch up with their friends and neighbours; one last hurrah before the cruel winter really descended upon them all.

Davy had been gathering refuse, old tree trunks, branches and other stuff all year and the pile was impressive now. Perched on top, as was traditional, Davy and his boys had made a rudimentary Guy. As usual they had invited a few friends and family over including Marilla and John. It was always fun to watch the pile go up in flames. Ever since he was a little boy, Davy had loved a bonfire. There was the heat of course, so enticing on a cold night; the sparks reaching up to the sky and then fireworks bought from the local store. The twins and their friends had been saving up their pennies for weeks. The Keith bonfire was known throughout the district as one of the best. They had an impressive pile of potatoes for later in the evening, to be thrown into the embers and cooked as people chatted, catching up on the local gossip. It was lovely chance for a catch up before Christmas.

Like most farmers, Davy had a special bonfire spot. Years ago, he had wandered around the property and marked out the perfect location, down a shallow hill. If something was too heavy to carry, it could be pushed down the hill and left to land on the pile. It was centrally located, so rubbish could easily be collected from anywhere on the property. By now the scorched earth told the story of bonfires burnt year after year. November was a perfect time, sometimes it was a little wet, though it was not on this night. The combination of cold nights, Guy Fawkes celebrations and an opportunity to get their friends together made for a wonderful night.

Earlier in the evening Davy and the twins had conferred about the best spots to set the fire alight. Sometimes the fire was a bit tricky to get going, particularly if it had rained during the week, so Davy had started lighting it earlier in the evening. It was roaring by the time their guests arrived.

Mme Soigne had sent along a picnic, so John and Marilla were sitting nearby chatting with the neighbours. They sat in a circle, the warm glow heating their faces, the light casting wild shadows.

The bonfire was already alight when Davy remembered the last load waiting for him in the barn, so with a sigh he called the boys to him and together they made their way back to the barn to collect it. Eager to be of assistance, the twins happily left the crowd and ran back to the barn with their father. They buzzed around like hummingbirds bursting with excitement. They had almost been too little to enjoy the bonfire last year; but they were big boys now.

The cart drove slowly, burdened by the load, so the boys jumped down and ran ahead as soon as the fire came into view.

"Grandpa John, Grandpa John," Tommy called exuberantly and he started running down the hill towards his beloved grandfather.

* * *

There was endless, fruitless, examination later as to how it happened. Maybe it was the lay of the land, maybe the boy tripped slightly? No one would ever know. The outcome was devastating either way, as Tommy picked up pace dashing down the hill, he veered slightly off course. Instead of landing in John's expectant arms, he ran straight into the heart of the fire. His little legs going too fast to stop.

When he saw where Tommy was headed John lurched sideways in an attempt to gather him into his arms, but missed; his fingers just grazing the side of the boy's shirt before he was lost.

For Marilla, the whole scene played out in slow motion, much as it had when she had fallen the previous year. The desperate shouts of the adults; the small boy running, his little white knees pumping up and down; the look of desperation on his face as he saw where he was headed, unable to slow or stop; the sudden burst of red sparks heading up, up, up towards the sky when his small burst of energy hit the inferno.

Marilla thought she would never forget the sound of Davy's anguished cry, "NO!" as he watched Tommy in full flight, before he too, tried to dash into the flames to pluck Tommy out. The heat was too great and despite his best efforts he was unable to make headway. The other men sprung to his aid to pull him out. Tommy was dead by then in any case, killed by the radiant heat before he even had a chance to cry out.

Marilla gasped and went to Davy's aid, sobbing at the sight of his burned hands. Davy was unaware of the damage, as he held Millie in his arms, the two of them weeping, great gulping sobs. Matty stood between them, asking repeatedly with growing urgency, "where's Tommy? Mummy? Daddy? Tommy, where's TomMY?" His twin was more than a brother, the two made a whole. It felt as though half his body had been ripped away.

The fire burned on, the sounds of cracking, popping, small explosions, and hissing creating a terrible backdrop to the scene playing out. Their neighbours had come for a celebration and looked on in horror as the tragedy played out in front of them.

Marilla turned to John with a wild look in her eyes. "Come, let's sit them down," John suggested, though really, he had no idea how to manage the situation. No one did, there was no etiquette to follow. Millie leant against Davy's chest, he failed to save her when her legs buckled; his burnt hands unable to hold her as she fell. Marilla knelt down by her side and pulled her in close, both women weeping bitterly.

It was such a ghastly scenario, but no one knew what the protocol was. Should they stay, to keep watch with the ravaged family, or should they leave them to it? Most stayed, and those who left did so unobtrusively, silently easing back into the shadows and departing without a word.

When the fire died down to just burning embers, John asked Marilla, "are you coming?" as he held out his hand.

"What?" asked a dazed Marilla, "I'm just going home with Millie. She'll need a hand. I'll stay with them for a while. Could you fetch the doctor? I'm worried about Davy's hands."

"Of course," John kissed her and gave her a firm hug, "I'll see you soon."

Marilla absentmindedly hugged him back, her thoughts had turned to Davy's family now.

* * *

"Come now, Mr Keith," and when there was no response, "Davy, let's have a look at these hands of yours," Doctor Mustard ordered. Davy was unresponsive, but the doctor was adamant, the burns were nasty. It worried the doctor that Davy was not screaming in agony. He must have been in considerable pain; his catatonic state was a concern.

Marilla undressed the children and put them to bed, hugging both boys, particularly Matty who looked in as much shock as his parents. Doctor Mustard wordlessly handed over a glass of milk for Matty to drink. It had a small dose of laudanum, he had dosed the whole family. They needed sleep.

Marilla went to check on the sleepy Millie. She was sat on the edge of her bed, still fully clothed. Her dress smelling of smoke and stiff with dried tears. Gently and with little murmurs, Marilla undid Millie's buttons and lifted her dress over her head. Millie looked up at her through the neck of the dress and asked in a small voice, "is he really gone?"

"Yes darling," Marilla's heart broke to tell her.

Remembering her inability to find the right words when Anne lost Joy, Marilla spoke as little as possible, instead preferring to sit in silent vigil with Millie, hoping that she found some sliver of solace in her presence, if nothing else. Religious platitudes meant very little in time of extreme grief, Marilla had learnt, so Marilla sat by the bed watching Millie. Happy when at last Millie moved her hand closer to hers so that she could easily reach out to take it. She held it firmly, sending as much love as she could muster through her hand to Millie's. She would sit there all night if she had to and would be there to care for them all for as long as necessary.

* * *

The morning came brisk and bright in mockery of the dreadful night. Marilla stretched her back stiffly, as she heard the clink of dishes being moved in the kitchen. Getting to her feet, somewhat annoyed, as she didn't want to disturb the family, she was surprised to see Mme Soigne setting out the breakfast things, "I expect they won't be hungry, but I felt I should get something ready just in case, Mrs Blythe."

"Mr Blythe told you then?" Marilla stated flatly, sitting down at the table.

"Mrs Blythe, I am so terribly sorry. What a terrible tragedy, that poor little boy."

"He was ... such a gorgeous little soul," Marilla hastened outside, her grief was not equal to Davy and Dora's she did not feel it was right to weep in front of them.

Mme Soigne followed her outside, "It is all right to cry, Mrs Blythe. He was your grandson. There is no shame in it."

"But my grief is not equal to theirs."

"It is not a contest Mrs Blythe. Grief is grief. We all grieve in different ways, you are entitled too. It is better to cry, non? You must allow them to cry and you must let yourself cry with them. This is a terrible thing."

"Just awful. The sight of him running down that hill," Marilla stopped, all of a sudden sinking her to knees, "I won't be able to support them if I am this distraught." Mme Soigne looked at her mistress, tears in her eyes herself. "I think you need to let yourself cry, Mrs Blythe. It is healthy to do so. Then when you have cried by yourself, you can cry with them."

Wiping her eyes on her apron after she had sobbed for a while, Marilla nodded at Mme Soigne and took her hand as she got back to her feet. The women walked back into the kitchen where Marilla sat back down, while Mme Soigne prepared the breakfast.

* * *

"Davy love, I know you are hurting dreadfully," commented Marilla with a hand on his shoulder. Davy had taken to his bed and had not risen for some days, craving the abyss of sleep and forgetfulness. He turned away from her roughly muttering, "g'way".

But she continued on relentlessly, "you have a family to care for. They need you. They're grieving too."

Davy turned around at that and stared at Marilla with blank eyes, "I can't. I can't. I just can't. They'll be better off without me. I'm no good as a father, I just can't do it. I'm a failure. I let him die, I couldn't save him, Marilla. I can't be trusted around them. I just can't." Marilla sat with him for a while longer unable to think of a way to persuade him that he was so very wrong and desperately worried about his mental state. He was veering into dangerous territory.

"I can't get through to him either," Millie said through swollen, tear stained eyes when Marilla walked back out of the room. Marilla strode over to envelop the bereaved mother in her arms and they wept for Tommy and for the family left behind.

* * *

Davy heard a small insistent voice by his bedside and someone's small finger prodding him. Turning over to rudely tell them to leave him alone, his opened eyes revealed Matty kneeling on the mattress. "Daddy, I miss Tommy. I need a hug." At the realisation that his grief was as nothing compared to Matty's, Davy opened his arms as Matty scrambled in. Matty had not only lost his brother, his best friend, his confidant but his twin. Davy thought he would die if anything happened to Dora and now Matty was facing that very dilemma.

"Aren't you very hungry Daddy?" Matty asked a while later. Davy nodded, waving his bandaged mitts in the boy's direction. "Oh," getting on his knees Matty pulled the bowl of cold stew over to Davy's lap and took a small spoonful, guiding it carefully towards his father's gaping mouth. Matty giggled as a bit of stew slopped out of the over full spoon, "sorry Daddy."

"Bit ambitious there?" Davy smiled weakly. The spoon scraped along the bottom of the bowl as Matty collected the last of the sauce, then he wiped his father's chin with a corner of the sheet, "are you tired Daddy?"

"Thirsty," replied Davy thickly. Matty looked at the big jug of water and hopped up to pour a glass, but it was too heavy for him. He looked at his father, who shrugged, looking down at his heavily bandaged hands. Matty turned and in the way of all boys yelled, "Muuummmy!"

"He sounds so like his brother," stammered Millie, out in the other room.

"I'll go," said Marilla.

"No, leave it to me. I'll do it," Millie brushed past Marilla, who held out her hand and squeezed Millie's as she walked past, receiving a brief squeeze in return.

"Yes darling?" Millie asked as she walked in. Seeing her boys in the room together warmed her heart.

"We need a hand here," Davy replied.

"Of course," Millie walked over to the jug, poured a glass of water for Davy and held it to his lips while he drank.

"Mummy...," Matty patted the bed.

Millie turned to him, tears in her eyes and lay down on the bed next to her husband. Matty climbed in between his parents. Davy longed to feel them both, but all he could do was lightly bat them with his bandaged hands. Millie caressed his cheek, wiping away the tears that were freely falling. Davy let out an anguished cry at that and the three of them wailed and sobbed in the bed.

Marilla, listening from the kitchen was pleased to hear it, she rose and went to check on baby Artie who was still sleeping soundly. She heard the front door click and returned to the kitchen to see John walking in, "oh, am I pleased to see you," she leaned against him for a hug and a kiss.

"How are they?" he enquired.

"Better. They're all in there together, having a good cry," she explained, somewhat needlessly, the keening could easily be heard from the kitchen.

"Good. Now Mme Soigne has offered them the services of Victor. He'll look after the farm while Davy is out of action," John explained.

"Milty and Ralph were going to help I think."

"Yes, well they are good to offer, but they have their own places to run. Victor is able and free and I think the money would come in handy too," John suggested.

* * *

Mme Soigne brought Victor over the next morning. Victor had been initially reluctant, but she urged him to help, reminding him that if nothing else the income would be welcome. She introduced the Keiths and the Blythes to Victor. They looked at his strong shoulders sizing him up. He certainly looked as though he might be able to help while Davy was out of action. "You just have to write your instructions down on paper," explained Mme Soigne, "printing is best."

"What can he do Mme Soigne?" Millie asked.

"Well he can start by milking the cows and chopping some wood, then you can write down a list of instructions if you like. Do you think you could give him a tour of the farm, first?"

The next day, Victor visited Green Gables. When a bleary eyed Marilla answered the door first thing in the morning, he wordlessly thrust his extra painting of The Avenue into her hands with a brief smile, before he stumped off down the road towards Davy's farm.

* * *

 **A/N** _this did in fact happen to a family friend's little brother, he saw a jackaroo (cowboy) he liked who was by a bonfire on their farm, ran down to greet him and ran straight into the flames._

 **Guy Fawkes Night** , is an annual commemoration observed on 5 November. Its history begins with the events of 5 November 1605, when Guy Fawkes, a member of the Gunpowder Plot, was arrested while guarding explosives the plotters had placed beneath the House of Lords. Celebrating the fact that King James I had survived the attempt on his life, people lit bonfires around London; and months later, the introduction of the Observance of 5th November Act enforced an annual public day of thanksgiving for the plot's failure. Fawkes was hung, drawn and quartered for his part in the plot.


	54. Chapter 54

With thanks to **Alinyaalethia** for her help with scripture, I'm sure I haven't done it justice.

 **Content warning, grief and depression.**

* * *

 **Cloven**

Matthew Keith, commonly known as Matty, was a twin. That was just who he was. He never questioned it. He never minded it. He was not whole on his own. Matty existed with his brother Tommy; inseparable from the moment they were born. Tommy was born first, so said their mother, with a screaming Matty coming along shortly afterwards, "maybe because he hated being left alone," Mummy said with a smile and a caress for them both. They often asked for the details of their birth, especially after Artie was born, it seemed so miraculous. They were curious why there were two of them and only one of him? Matty felt sorry for Artie, being alone. When they were babies, the boys slept in the same cot. Mummy would try to separate them, but they'd cry until they were put together and they would sleep holding hands, wrapped up around each other, taking comfort in the breathing and heartbeat of the other.

Tommy took his older brother responsibilities seriously. He was the instigator of most of their adventures, with Matty an enthusiastic follower. They had great fun together. They ran around their fiefdom like little kings. Sometimes they went a bit far. Matty recalled the time they destroyed Granny's rosebush. They got a bit carried away that day, playing soldiers. They were pretending the rosebush was the French army as they hacked it to pieces. They regarded it afterwards with some pleasure, feeling that they had done a good job, defeating that army. It wasn't until Grandpa John had accosted them that they realised how much trouble they were in. Watching Granny stumble away in tears at the death of her rose had been, up until now, the saddest day in Matty's life.

Now? Now, Matty didn't know who he was? He wasn't anyone if he wasn't a twin. He felt naked without Tommy by his side. Matty kept seeing Tommy out of the corner of his eyes, just out of his peripheral vision, but he'd have skipped away when Matty turned his head to see him properly. The thought that he would never see his brother again made him desolate, he couldn't articulate it, but the empty years ahead echoed painfully.

They had been so excited that night. Daddy had asked them to help out and they felt very grown up going back to the barn with him to collect the last load of rubbish. But the cart travelled so slowly and there was a party ahead, with the Guy on top of the bonfire, and sparklers and penny bangers. All their friends were there, and it was just _so_ exciting. When the cart came close, they jumped down and ran towards the fire. Matty hesitated slightly, he'd never loved running down hills, but Tommy was fearless, what's more he spied their grandfather at the bottom, and he was dying to tell him all about their plans for the night. "I'm off," he burst out to Matty and dashed away.

Away … and out of his life.

* * *

Marilla had called Anne and explained the situation. Anne clapped her hands to her mouth, dropping the receiver, Marilla heard the muffled sound as it clanged against the wall, "sorry," explained Anne when she recovered it, "I dropped the receiver. Poor Davy, poor Millie, how is Matty? How are you all?" The news brought back Anne's aching sadness when she lost Joy, "the poor things. When will the funeral be held?"

"We can't have a funeral," Marilla explained, "there's no body," she stopped for a moment, sighing, gathering her composure, "they are holding a memorial service next week."

"Oh, Marilla. Oh, my goodness, no body?"

"He burnt away to nothing, Ralph went looking the next day through the embers, but nothing. Davy wanted to go down, but we wouldn't let him. His hands were frightfully burned, he's got big bandages on them now. Can't do a thing for himself. We have to feed and dress him, and er, other things," Marilla trailed off meaningfully.

"How are you and John coping?" Anne asked after a pause.

"Well the neighbours are cooking for us all as you can imagine. The Ladies Aid has swung into action."

"And how are you all coping," Anne asked again, meaning their mental state.

"Well it's absolutely ghastly as you can imagine. Matty is wandering around forlornly. Davy was unresponsive, but Matty seems to have gotten through to him. I have been helping Millie with scripture. The minister has been by as well."

"Has he helped Davy, too?"

"Davy won't speak to him, poor soul. He can't comprehend how God could take his boy away."

"Yes, I understand, I felt the same way when we lost Joy, do you remember?"

"How could I ever forget, darling, such a terrible time?"

* * *

"It's almost crueler you know," Marilla said to John over their dinner that night. "I thought losing Joy would be the worst thing, but somehow losing Tommy is harder to bear."

"Because we knew him, Joy was just a baby," John reflected.

"I suppose so. Matthew's death was hard too," Marilla mused.

"But he at least had a life. Tommy was just starting his," John speared a piece of meat and popped it in his mouth.

"Mmm," Marilla mused, looking at her dinner, but not feeling the slightest bit hungry.

"When are Gilbert and Anne arriving?" John asked, after he had finished his mouthful.

"They said they'll be here the day before the service. They'll get a ride over. No need for anyone to pick them up."

"Shirley will be upset. He got on so well with them when he was here," John commented,

"He might be a comfort for Matty. Someone his own age, poor boy."

* * *

A dull drizzly morning greeted them as the families got ready for Tommy's memorial service, it seemed simultaneously apt and yet not. The weather suited the sad occasion, but it did not suit the happy little soul being farewelled. They made their way over in a solemn procession through the rain to church, umbrellas keeping the worst off. No one felt much like talking, though the children wept openly. In the little church the minister stood up at the pulpit looking down at the despondent family, he was worried for them all, but hoped their love for each other combined with their strong faith, would pull them through.

"We are gathered here today," he intoned.

Davy took one great big breath, moaned, "no" and stumbled out of the pew in a desperate rush to get away. His breakfast so lovingly fed to him by Matty that morning had turned to water and strove to escape in a gush. He had to get out of there, _now._ Holding his bandaged hands to his mouth to keep it all in, he rushed down the aisle and out the door, heedless of the rain pouring down. Kneeling down on the ground vomiting, Davy wanted to die so purely he felt his heart gazing up at him asking between beats, 'are you sure want me to keep doing this?' but he found he could not give the order to stop.

The congregation watched him run out, Marilla half rose, but Anne motioned for her to stay. She understood his grief and she had always been able to talk him down when he was young. Hurrying out, she found him retching in the rosebushes by the graveyard. Sitting by him, Anne ignored the downpour, it was getting heavier now and it was cold, but there were more important things than weather. When he had finished, Davy tried to wipe himself down, but it was a lost cause. Anne attempted it, but her handkerchief was not equal to the task either.

Davy swung around so he was sitting on his bottom, Anne knelt down beside him, water dripping through their hair and streaming down their faces finding the easy way through Davy's stubble, "Marilla will be disappointed in me," Davy stated flatly.

"Don't you worry about Marilla," Anne soothed him, rubbing the raindrops out of her eyelashes.

"I just couldn't, I couldn't stay in there, you know," his eyes were cast downwards, "did you go to your, to Joy's funeral?"

"I was too weak. I stayed in bed while Gilbert and Marilla went on my behalf, I wanted to be there, desperately, but I couldn't make it."

 _The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want;_ _  
He makes me down to lie..._

The sounds of the congregation singing wafted over them, Davy went pale again and bent his head between his knees.

"It hurts doesn't it," Anne commented gently.

"I've never known such pain, Anne. Does it get better?"

"It does, it never goes away, it just becomes part of you." Anne reflected, thinking of her little girl born all those years ago.

"The thought that it may stop hurting sometimes hurts me worse than all else," Davy explained.

"Yes, I felt the same way, once. It won't stop hurting, you loved him. This pain is the price you pay for love," Anne explained.

"It hurts so much that I'm afraid of living."

"Oh Davy-boy," replied Anne, employing the nickname she used when he was young, "it will get better, I promise. This hurt, which is love, won't disappear, but it will ease eventually. Millie, Matty and Artie need you, you know. They love you so."

Davy nodded his head as it hung between his knees, tears mixed with rain streaming down, dripping down on to the already wet grass.

"I keep seeing him, running down that damned hill, you know. If I hadn't built the fire there, if it wasn't for that hill. I should have waited to light the fire. I killed him Anne, I killed To… mm… y," Davy sobbed.

"Shh, shh, Davy, don't do that to yourself. It was an accident, just a terrible, terrible accident. You've done all those things a dozen times before and nothing's gone wrong."

"But I should have known it was dangerous and now I've lost him. He was such a beautiful boy, I can't even cradle him now. I wish I could hug him one last time, even just his body."

"I know, I know," Anne rubbed his wet shoulder.

"You go in Anne, I don't want you catching a cold," Davy insisted.

"No, that's all right. I'll stay with you," Anne replied softly.

They lapsed into silence, for what else was there to say? Millie and Gilbert found them there after the service was over. Gilbert had begged for blankets from the minister and he covered them both before they were put into a carriage and taken home. Marilla exclaimed over the state of them, nearly blurting out that they'd catch their death, before she physically stopped herself from saying the words, clamping her hands over her mouth.

* * *

Sitting with steaming hair by the fireplace, now dressed in warm dry clothes, Davy and Anne watched the scene unfold in front of them as more and more folk arrived for the wake, murmuring their condolences to the family. Marilla and John had offered Green Gables as it was larger than Davy and Millie's house.

Millie sat on the couch flanked by Dora and Minne May who were providing comfort, listening patiently as she poured her heart out.

"Come out to the kitchen with me, Davy, your dressings are sopping. I'll change them," Gilbert offered. He gathered some clean bandages together, as well as some ointment from his case, and unwrapped the soggy bandages carefully, "ooh," he whistled as the last one came away revealing the red oozy mess that were Davy's hands, Davy let loose a sharp breath when the last of the bandages were pulled away.

"I did a job on them all right, "Davy remarked ruefully.

"You did what you had to do. I'd behave the same way in the circumstances."

"She," Davy gesticulated with his head towards Millie, "doesn't think I did enough. She thinks I should have saved him."

At Gilbert's expression of shock, he added, "oh she won't say it outright, but that's what she thinks."

Gilbert was pretty sure Millie thought no such thing, Davy was feeling guilty that he didn't do more to save Tommy, not Millie. but held his tongue saying instead "look at you Davy you just about burnt your hands off trying to get to him and I reckon your face and neck look pretty sore too, aren't they?"

"They hurt a bit. What do you mean _off?"_

"Look, Davy", Gilbert gently replied, "I admit I am a bit worried about your hands. It's going to be a long process and even then you may have lost some feeling in them. What did Dr Mustard say at the time?"

"I dunno. I wasn't really listening, I wasn't really present you know."

"Of course you weren't, I'm sorry," Gilbert apologised as he re-wrapped Davy's hands.

Marilla looked over Mrs Barry's shoulder at the two men talking in the kitchen. Davy looking at Gilbert as he talked gently. Marilla hadn't seen Davy's hands since that night; from this distance they looked worse.

"Could I have saved him, Gilbert?" Davy pleaded with his brother in law.

"Honestly, I doubt anyone could, "Gilbert replied, "he would have been terribly burned you know and in absolute agony. Your burns are bad, but it's just part of your body. Burns to such a large amount of his body probably would have slowly killed him." Davy gulped and went pale. "I wouldn't usually go into so much detail, Davy, but you need to stop blaming yourself, from the moment he tumbled into the fire, there was nothing anyone could have done." Gilbert placed his hand comfortingly on Davy's shoulder and squeezed gently, hoping the young father understood the depth of his concern.

Rachel found herself sitting next to Davy on the couch. His freshly bandaged hands looking starkly white against his black trousers.

"Do you need anything?" Rachel whispered in his ear.

"Actually I'm really hungry," Davy replied.

Marilla had told her that Davy needed help with eating and looking at his hands Rachel understood why. Grabbing a plate she loaded it up with food and picked up a spoon.

"You lost children, Mrs Lynde?" Davy said between mouthfuls.

"I did, Davy. I lost my little Henry when he was just just a baby and my dear Katherine from scarlet fever when she was six. It was harder to lose her," Rachel thought, guiltily.

"How so?" Davy enquired when he had finished a mouthful, then nodded for more.

"By six they have a personality," Rachel explained as she loaded up another spoonful, "they fill your life with funny quips and anecdotes as they sort out the world in their own way, don't they? You really miss them as people. Losing a baby is still terrible of course, but they haven't developed yet."

"I was talking to Anne before, during the, you know, during the service, she told me the pain will dull, but never disappear," Davy commented.

"Yes, she's right of course. I'll never stop grieving 'til the day I die, I'll always hold them in my heart," Rachel glanced over at Davy's mother, "as supportive as I'm sure Marilla is right now, it's a pain she's never experienced. Both you and Millie are welcome to come and talk to me any time, any time," she soothed as she patted his knee.

By the window Mrs Pye was muttering to Mrs Shaw, "all this fuss for a dead boy, such a melodramatic family, the Cuthberts. As if children don't die all the time."

"I absolutely agree," Mrs Shaw whispered back as she took a sandwich from the proffered platter, she had mostly come for the free food, Marilla Cuthbert was known for her table, "I understand he was a real handful too."

"For shame," exclaimed Mrs Barry as she walked past, "if you don't think we should be mourning this little angel, then I think you ladies had better leave," she shooed them out of the room and watched as they huffed in umbrage when they put on their coats.

"What was all that about?" Mr Barry enquired as he watched the ladies wade homewards through the mud.

"Nothing to concern you, dear, I just think their venomous tongues are better off out of this house." explained Mrs Barry.

* * *

And how are you faring Dad?" Gilbert clapped his father on his shoulder the following evening. John had been so busy looking after everyone else, Marilla had been caring for the family, he had been caring for her, no one had thought to ask him how he was? At Gilbert's words a dam burst, and he broke down into heart wrenching sobs. He stumbled away from Gilbert in his shame and stammered "I nearly had him, if I'd just reacted sooner, if only..." but he could say no more.

Gilbert waited for a while to let his usually stoic father pull himself together sufficiently, then gently asked, "tell me Dad."

With tears still running down his cheeks, John turned to his son, explaining, "he was running to me, to _me_. If I'd been somewhere else, we wouldn't be having this conversation, but he altered course on his way down, just slightly, just enough to miss me. I nearly had him, you know, I nearly caught him, but he was just slightly too far away. I should have dived for him, I should, I…" he broke down again.

Gilbert rubbed his father's back, "Dad, it was a terrible accident, it's no one's fault. Things just happen for no reason. You couldn't have done any more."

John buried his face in his hands, his voice now muffled, "but I should have, I almost could have, his shirt grazed my fingers," looking up at his son, "I can still feel his shirt brushing past." He rubbed his fingers at the remembered sensation.

"It all happened in a split second, yes?"

"Uh, huh," John nodded.

"You didn't have time to react, but you'll be reliving it for a while yet, I expect. Have you told anyone else how you feel?"

"No," dully, "Marilla's got her hands full as it is and she's grieving as well."

"You deserve some attention too, Dad. We've got to look after you."

"Gilbert," John grabbed his shirt, "don't say anything. They've got enough on their plate as it is. I'll tell her later. Just leave it for now. I feel better for telling you. Don't say anything, please," he pleaded with his son, "please."

"All right, if you insist Dad, I'll stay quiet, but you must tell Marilla at least. She'll want to know how you're feeling?" Gilbert urged as he hugged his distressed father.

* * *

"Say Matty," said Shirley shyly, "would you like Mr Moose?" The boys had been reunited, and Shirley found it difficult to know what to say to his cousin. It seemed strange that he was alone. Tommy had always been by Matty's side, He'd been quite envious. Even within a large family, Shirley felt quite lonely at times. Matty and Tommy never felt that way, they always had a chum nearby. Now, Matty seemed bewildered by his brother's absence.

Shirley took his stuffed brown friend with the furry antlers out of his case and solemnly handed it over to Matty who received it with the reverence only a small child could muster. "Gee thanks, Shirley, are you sure?"

"Yes, I think he might help you when you get lonely, he's a terrific listener, sometimes I use him as a pillow," Shirley explained.

Matty hugged Mr Moose and felt the softness of his fur against his cheek, "thanks Shirley, I'll look after him always."

* * *

"Where's Mr Moose, Shirley? Don't you need him to get to sleep?" Anne asked him when she tucked the boys in that night. They were all sharing a room, Jem and Walter only tolerating him because of the situation.

"I gave him away," Shirley explained, his older brothers looked on in shock.

"You _gave_ him away? Anne asked stunned, rocking back on her heels. Many the night she had hunted frantically for Mr Moose because Shirley was adamant he couldn't sleep without him.

"Yes, I hope you're not too cross, Mummy. I gave him to Matty. I thought he might need a friend since he lost Tommy."

"Oh, dear child, that was a very lovely thing to do, Shirley," she kissed him on the forehead, "I'm sure they'll be very happy together."

"I hope so Mummy."

Anne walked in to find Gilbert already in bed, shaking her head. "What is it?" he enquired.

"How many hours do you think you have you spent looking for Mr Moose?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Gilbert was blindsided by the question.

"Mr Moose, Shirley's toy, how long would you say you've spent looking for it at bedtime?"

"Oh, I dunno, lost count I guess, why?"

"He gave it away to Matty," Gilbert gaped, "yes, Shirley thought Matty could do with a friend," Anne explained.

"That boy of ours..." Gilbert sighed, "how did he get to be so sweet?"

Anne changed into her nightgown and lay down in bed next to him, "must be from good stock, I guess. Gilbert it's just terrible, they're all so sad. I'm sad."

"I know, love."

"You saw Davy's hands."

"Shocking, as bad as anything I've ever seen," Gilbert replied meaningfully as he caressed her shoulder.

"Could Davy have saved Tommy?"

"I doubt it," Gilbert was thinking that everyone seemed to be asking him that very question, "even if he could have pulled him out, his burns were extensive, assuming Tommy was even alive by then? The heat would have been intense, he may have died pretty instantaneously, with any luck." At her shocked look he explained, "you know how much a small burn hurts?"

"Oh yes," Anne's face blanched, "and with his whole body on fire, it would have been absolute torture."

"Even if, by some incredible chance, Davy could have pulled him out, I doubt he could have survived long and those last minutes would have been pure agony. It honestly was better this way, as awful as it was."

* * *

"It's a terrible thing, Marilla," Rachel was taking tea at Green Gables as they discussed the week's events.

"It is that, we're all in shock."

"Where is everyone now?"

"Oh, they're around about. Gilbert and Anne are over at Davy's. The children are playing. I think Matty might be around here with them somewhere."

"That poor boy. How is he coping, it's a terrible thing to lose your twin."

"Poor little soul, he's like a lost puppy. They used to be joined at the hip, those two."

"It'll be a bit adjustment for him," Rachel commented thoughtfully as she sipped her tea, "and Millie, how is she?"

"I've been trying to help her, we've been sharing scripture."

"Psalms?"

"Yes, Psalm 23 in particular."

"It's always comforting at times like this, The Lord is my shepherd," Rachel mused, as she took a piece of pie, cutting it into small pieces with her fork and smothering it with fresh cream. "I found it helpful when I lost my little Katherine all those years ago."

Marilla paused thinking about her conversation with Millie the day before. Millie had been trying to keep her tears at bay, trying to find some solace in her Bible, and not really succeeding. Marilla led her into the Keith's parlour, and they sat down next to each other on the couch, their knees touching as they faced inwards. Marilla took Millie's hands in her own, and slowly talked about the meaning of Psalm 23. She knew Millie was familiar with it, but it was comforting to remind her in her time of great tribulation.

"Millie take comfort in the idea that our little lost Tommy is being cared for by our Lord up in heaven."

"Like in Psalm 23?" sniffled Millie.

"Just so, 'the Lord is our shepherd, I shall not want. Tommy will dwell in the house of the Lord forever', remember our Lord lost a son too, he will guide you through your grief if you let him.

"It is comforting, I suppose. I would rather he dwelt with us for a while longer," Millie said through her tears.

"Oh, darling, of course you do, of course you _do,_ but he will be safe up there with God and one day you will be reunited, take comfort in that."

A few days later the younger Blythe family had returned home to the Glen with promises to stay in touch. "Really, write me often," Anne implored Millie, her hands on the grieving mother's shoulders staring straight into her eyes, "any time and about any _thing_. Pour your heart out to me, promise?"

"I will, I promise," sniffled Millie as she wiped her eyes, touched by Anne's sincerity.

* * *

Marilla fussed around the family, checking that Davy was eating. His bandaged hands were still proving problematic, frustrating him and making him snap, then apologise in contrition. "Now you're sure you've got everything Millie? I'll just cut some bread up and I'll fill up this water jug now. Do you need a drink, Davy?" Millie looked to Davy raising her eyebrows. For all her caring ways, Marilla was beginning to drive her a little bit crazy. Davy cleared his throat, Marilla was so busy she ignored him, but John looked across. Saying no words, Davy implored John with his eyes, 'please just leave'.

"Marilla," John ordered, "Mar, let's just go. Let's leave them."

"What? We can't, I'm busy here. I just need to make sure…"

"No, we're going. Good evening Millie, Davy, good evening Matty," he bent down and kissed the boy on the head, smelling his fresh scent, "Here are your hat and coat, Mar, time to go home."

"I? What? Why?"

"Just come with me, sweetheart. It's time."

Before she knew it, Marilla had been bundled out of the house and was climbing into the buggy. She looked back through the kitchen window to see Matty animatedly telling Davy and Milly something as they looked on fondly, Artie lying in his basket nearby. The tableau bathed in warm candlelight.


	55. Chapter 55 Troublous Dreams

Content warning: grief and depression.

* * *

 **Troublous Dreams**

 _Tommy's high peal of laughter was intoxicating and Matty chuckled alongside him. Small birds were startled out of the long grass as they passed by, flapping up, up, up into the sky, squawking as they went. Matty felt as though he could run forever, so full of marvelous energy was he. "I'm going to live for ever and ever and ever," cried Tommy exuberantly, when he pulled up, panting, "and ever," just for good measure. Matty laughed alongside him and cried out the same thing. "Right I'm off, you can't catch me," cried Tommy as he leapt away suddenly leaving Matty wrong footed. "Wait for me, wait for me, I'm coming, I'm gonna catch you," Matty yelled after him, but Tommy was too fast and he ran ahead so quickly he was out of sight, lost in the mist that suddenly descended. Matty could hear his brother taunting him, but he couldn't see him, joy turned to panic when he couldn't find him, "Tommy, Tommy, where are you?" Tommy was nowhere to be seen, but every now and then his lilting laugh would sound out of the mist. Matty turned, someone was chopping wood nearby, so he turned towards the familiar sound, running out of energy now, lungs burning, desperate to find his brother, "Tommy?" and heard a responding echo, "Matty," but fainter now. "Tommy, where are you Tommy? Wait for me." Thunk, thunk, thunk, the wood chopping was louder than Tommy's calls now…_

… The thunk, thunk, thunking, continued on for some time, so that the margin between dream and wakefulness was hard to determine. He lay in his bed, alone, tears springing to his eyes when he realised it had all been a dream. He'd never run through the long grass with Tommy again.

* * *

"Granny?" Matty was spending the afternoon at Green Gables. They were sitting in the parlour completing a jigsaw puzzle.

"Mmm?" Marilla had a nice piece of the horse she was putting together.

"Granny, could you call me Matthew from now on? I know Matthew was your brother, but would it be all right to call me it too?"

"Matthew? Don't you like being called Matty?"

"I did, but it was Tommy and Matty, it sounds strange when people just call 'Matty', I keep thinking that there's something missing. It's like Matty was a twin, but I'm not a twin anymore, Granny. I'm just an only, so now I want to be Matthew. I was going to ask Mummy and Daddy, but since the other Matthew was your brother, I thought I'd ask you first, just in case you minded."

"Sweet boy," a tear came to Marilla's eyes and she kissed him on his forehead, "of course I approve. You and your brother were named after two of the finest men who ever lived, my brother Matthew and Thomas Lynde. I would be proud to call you his name, darling," she cradled the boy in her arms.

Later that afternoon, Davy came to pick up his boy. John welcomed him in and they stood in the doorway watching Marilla and Matthew, "how are your hands feeling now, Davy?" John asked him quietly.

Davy looked down at his grey bandages, over time they became less pristine, until they were changed for fresh ones, though the inner dressings were left intact, "actually, they don't hurt as much," he replied dully."

"That's a good thing isn't it? It means your hands are healing. Must be nice not to be in so much pain? Isn't it?" John was confused, Davy didn't seem to be all that happy about it.

"I suppose so."

"What, what's the matter?"

"It's just, oh, I dunno. It's just that the pain was my last tangible link to Tommy. If the pain goes, he's really gone too, does that make sense?" John rubbed his shoulder in solidarity.

* * *

If Minnie May Stuart, was surprised to see Millie Keith with Artie in her arms standing on her front porch one wintery afternoon, she did not show it. Truth be told she'd been expecting her any day now. She reached out her arms for the baby and led Millie inside. "Take your coat off, come and sit down, I'll put up some tea."

Millie sat down on the sofa, as Minnie May placed Artie on the floor with some blocks. She returned a few minutes later with a tray laden with afternoon tea. She was silent, waiting for Millie to talk. "It's just, just," Millie burst into tears. Minnie May sat and watched her sob, sometimes a good cry was necessary, silently she handed over a fresh handkerchief when Millie's was soaked. Millie took it gratefully and blew her nose heartily then wiped her eyes. When Artie looked up at his mother's sobs, Minnie May picked him up and dandled him on her knee.

When Millie had calmed down a little, she apologised, "sorry about your hankie."

Minnie May waved her off, "now tell me, what's the matter?"

"It's just all too much, I'm doing everything, everything. I know Davy is injured and can't help, but he just lumps around looking miserable. It's like he thinks he's the only one who's grieving, but I lost my little boy too. Davy seems to think it's all about him," Millie got to her feet and started pacing around the room as she spoke.

"Minnie May chewed her lip, Artie in her arms, "do you want my advice, or do you want me to listen?"

"What?" Millie had half forgotten Minnie May was there.

"Have you told Davy what you just told me?" Minnie May enquired.

"He knows."

"Does he? Sometimes men are very short sighted. Perhaps, when you're calmer you should say something," Minnie May's words were wise.

"I tried, just now," Millie rationalised.

"Considering your state when you rushed in, that message may not have got through. If I were him, I would have put my defenses up. I think you should try again."

"Now?" Millie half rose.

"No not now, tomorrow. Stay here with me tonight. Some space might help," offered Minnie May.

"You probably think I'm being despicable," Millie sobbed again.

"I think no such thing, darling. You're at the end of your tether, and it's perfectly understandable to feel this way," Minnie May reassured her, "do you still love him?" Millie stared off into the middle distance "Well do you? Millie, do you?"

* * *

After lunch a few days later, Davy heaved a massive sigh, Millie turned around from the dishes in frustration, "honestly you are driving me batty right now, Davy. You know I'm busy here, think of my day? I have to get up and dressed, help you get dressed, shave and toilet you, get breakfast, then get Mat-thew," she stumbled over his new name, "off to school. Then it's time to do the housework while you sit around. Next it's lunch and dinner and I do it all backwards before bed, and up again the next morning. I know you can't do much, but please, for the love of God, don't sit around sighing. You're so bound up in self pity have you forgotten I'm mourning too?" They could hear the wail of baby Artie upstairs. Davy just sat on the couch until, with a sound of exasperation, Millie went upstairs to see to him, she brought Artie down again, freshly changed and ready for some afternoon tea.

"Well what can I do? I can't do anything," Davy waved his hands around for emphasis, "see these, I need them to do everything."

"Ugh, well you can go for a walk can't you? Must be time to pick Matthew up from school."

Davy walked over to the coat rack and looked at her forlornly. With a massive sigh of her own, Millie stomped over to put a coat around Davy's shoulders and fastened it up at the front, before she opened the door and practically shoved him out of it.

It was icy, even all wrapped up Davy could feel the cold seeping into his bones. Must be well under 20 below he thought as he tramped along through the heavy snow, Davy slipped on the icy ground and fell down on his bottom. He almost felt like giving up, it was all so difficult. Lying down he saw a little robin sing, little puffs of its breath rising upwards. Davy was so tired, he shut his eyes and lay there on the snowy ground.

* * *

School was over for the day, Matthew waited for Daddy to come and pick him up. He stood on the step stamping his feet and rubbing his hands. It was cold and getting dark. He could hear the sounds of the teacher, Miss Storer, tidying up inside.

Matthew had been back at school for a few weeks now. It had been hard at first. Mummy and Daddy had had a chat with Miss Storer, she knew of course that Tommy had died, but they told her how Matthew had changed his name and asked if she might keep an eye on him. It was strange at first, arriving at school by himself. He felt almost shy, despite the fact that he knew everyone there. His friends came to greet him, they were a bit cautious too.

"What are you doing here, Matthew?" Miss Storer interrupted his musing, "hasn't your father come to pick you up?"

"I expect he's just running late, Miss Storer, he'll be along soon," Matthew replied, hopefully.

"How about I walk you home, when we bump into your father, he can take you the rest of the way." Matthew nodded enthusiastically, he really was getting quite cold waiting for Daddy and Miss Storer's plan made sense. Taking her basket in one hand and Matthew's mittened hand in the other, they set off together. "May I ask you something, Miss Storer?" Matthew asked.

"Of course you can, Mat-thew," Miss Storer stumbled over his new name.

"It's just a bit funny being back at school, not funny ha ha, funny odd," Matthew explained, "I was looking forward to getting back to school, though I was a bit scared too." Miss Storer nodded, she understood. "I was looking forward to seeing all my friends, but I knew I would miss Tommy. But, Miss Storer when I tried to talk to my friends they ran away, why was that? I thought they liked me?"

"Oh, Matthew. It's a strange thing when someone you love dies, your friends often don't know how to treat you anymore...," Miss Storer started.

"... but I'm the same boy, I'm just me," Matthew interrupted.

"Of course you are, except not. You are also the boy whose brother died and that makes some people uncomfortable. People you thought were your best friends can't cope with the strong emotions death brings out, so they avoid them, and that means avoiding you too. Have these friends been mean?" If they had been, Miss Storer would be having words with them.

"No, they haven't been mean, they've just been ignoring me," Matthew didn't want anyone getting into trouble over it.

"Well that doesn't sound very nice, especially if they were your friends before?" a plan was beginning to form in Miss Storer's mind. She had had a chat with the children before Matthew returned to school, but it seemed all her lessons had not been understood. Time, perhaps for another talk.

"No, Miss Storer. It makes me lonely."

"It must be strange being without Tommy."

"It is, I feel a bit naked without him by my side," Matthew was pleased Miss Storer couldn't see him blushing under his scarf.

"Other than that, is it all right here?" Matthew was silent as he walked along, his boots sinking into the snow, "Matthew, is anything else the matter?" Miss Storer urged.

"Well there is another thing," Miss Storer nodded, "the people who do talk to me," Matthew explained, "don't ever seem to say Tommy's name. Have they forgotten him?"

"No, Matthew, they haven't. It's difficult for them too, and they don't want to upset you by talking about him. They think that if they say his name you'll be reminded and it will make you sad."

"But that doesn't make any sense," quizzically Matthew looked up at her with a crease between his eyebrows, "I'll never ever forget him. How can I be reminded of something I'll never forget?"

"I know, it doesn't make any sense does it? But folks do it all the time, even when they get older and supposedly wiser."

They walked along the snowy path through the trees towards Matthew's house. "What's that?" Miss Storer exclaimed as she saw a lump on the path. When they came nearer they saw it was a man laying on his back on the snow, eyes closed, "Mr Keith?"

"Daddy!"

There was no response. "Matthew do you know your way home from here, we need to get help?'

"Granny's is closer, shall I go there?"

"Yes, run as fast as you can, your Daddy needs help," Miss Storer commanded and watched as little Matthew's figure grew rapidly smaller then disappeared around a bend.

* * *

Davy came to in a soft bed. He opened his eyes a crack then closed them rapidly, it was too bright out there. Maybe the sun had come out again? But no, he was laying on something warm, rather than the cold ground. He had fallen asleep on the snow, and now he was in a bed, but not at home, somewhere else, it looked familiar. His throat was dry, so he called out for some water.

Marilla was sitting by her boy, looking so pale and thin in his old bed. She felt desperately guilty that it had come to this. She had thought they were coping, but it was obvious they were not. "Ah," Davy croaked, startling Marilla out of her thoughts.

"Davy, you're awake! Can I get you anything, water?" Davy nodded. Marilla sat on the bed, cradling his head in one arm, she lifted a glass to his mouth and gave him a small sip.

It was the nicest thing Davy had ever drunk. Better even than the red currant cordial he had stolen from the pantry when he was small, but she stopped too soon and he let out a sound of protest. "Later darling, you can have some more in a minute. We have to take it slowly. Do you know where you are?"

"Green Gables?" he mumbled.

"That's right, Matthew and his teacher, Miss Storer found you lying on the snow. We brought you here because there's more people to look after you, Millie has enough on her hands. Mme Soigne, John and myself will care for you here, until you feel better.

* * *

After lunch Marilla had to hurry outside for a moment leaving Davy sitting at the kitchen table, alone. He was thirsty and his glass of water looked so delicious. He couldn't wait for Marilla, so with great care Davy placed both bandaged hands at either side of the glass and gripped tightly as he lifted the glass, but the angle was still wrong, he couldn't do more than try to slurp a little water up from the lip of the glass. The glass slipped out of his hands and landed on its side, the water sloshing down. In his exasperation, Davy swiped the glass with one arm so that it landed with a crash on the floor, smashing into a thousand little pieces upon impact.

Marilla found him sat by the table his pants wet, his head cradled in his bandaged hands, shattered glass at his feet. Without a word she fetched a broom and swept up the shards, fetched him a glass of water and helped him drink, then drew him over to the parlour, sat him down and pulled his head down onto her lap. Davy felt safe there, remembering times past when Marilla would have scolded him for such an accident. Realising, as he hadn't then, that her harsh words came from love; as her lack of them did now.

* * *

John kicked her violently, waking her up with a start, "hey, watch out there!" It wasn't the first time she had been woken thus, but it was more painful this time, rubbing her leg ruefully, she was just about to wake him up when he screamed "Tommy! No!" at the top of his voice, at that she turned over and roughly shook him, "John, John, you're having a nightmare, it's not real, it's just a dream."

"Wha? Wha?" John woke suddenly and gave a great shudder. He heaved a great sigh and questioningly looked sideways at Marilla.

"You were having a nightmare," she explained gently, "you kicked me. Is everything all right, John?" He shook his head, not quite trusting himself to speak. "John?"

He whispered, "I was trying to catch him."

"Tommy?" enquired Marilla.

"Yes, Tommy. He keeps leaping out of my arms and laughing. I can't keep him safe."

"Sounds like this isn't the first time you've had this dream," Marilla pressed.

"Nightmare. No, he keeps leaping out of my arms and into the fire. I fumble to stop him, but he always lands in it anyhow."

"That sounds awful. I'm constantly watching him running down that hill. If I close my eyes, that's the sight I see," she shuddered, "it's a dreadful thing, just dreadful. Our poor boy. What can we do for them, John?" Marilla climbed into his arms and they lay in the bed together trying to come up with some plan to help the young family.

* * *

 _The scene where Davy sees the bird singing is not a typo, I saw a beautiful photo of a bird's singing breath on the interwebz, you can google it too, just search 'when you can see the song.'_


	56. Chapter 56 Like a Diamond in the Sky

**Like a Diamond in the Sky**

* * *

 _Green Gables  
_ _2 December_

 _Dearest Anne_

 _Darling, I am so worried about Davy, Millie and Matthew (as Matty now wants to be called). Very solemnly the other day he asked if I would mind if we called him by his full name now that his twin is gone. Anne, my heart broke a little when he asked. It is a little strange to have a young Matthew about, almost as though the intervening 60 years never happened, and my dear brother is young again. Little Matty was nothing like my beloved brother, but young Matthew is rather more subdued._

 _It's Davy and Millie that I worry about. They are barely talking to each other. Davy is bored, his hands are still bandaged, and he suffers from having too little to do. Thankfully M. Soigne is caring for the farm. Honestly, that family has been a Godsend._

 _Millie is busy running the household. Artie is a great deal of work, he's crawling now and always on the move. He's a happy little fellow, always laughing. He brings a real joy to all our lives, joy that is much needed as you might imagine._

 _I remain your loving mother,_

 _Marilla_

* * *

 _Ingleside  
Glen St Mary  
_ _6 December_

 _Dearest Millie_

 _My darling, I hope you are all somewhat on your way to recovery. It is a long road, I know, but with the support of friends, family and your belief in the Lord, I am sure you will find peace again one day._

 _It's not long until Christmas, forgive me for not asking sooner, but would you all like to join us at Ingleside this year? I will not be the slightest bit offended if you decline, but perhaps a change of scenery will do you all good and of course Shirley would love to see Matthew again._

 _All my love,_

 _Anne_

* * *

 _Avonlea  
_ _15 December_

 _Dearest Anne_

 _Thank you for your lovely letter, your letters are always so warm and supportive, I do treasure them so._

 _We are all well, oh who am I kidding? I know you can cope with the truth, we are all suffering dreadfully here. Matthew is gorgeous but he is a constant reminder of the boy we lost. I was so delighted to give birth to identical twins, but now it's like I have a little ghost running about. Matthew is very quiet now and I know I should be a better mother to him. But what with my own grief, caring for Artie and minding the house, I find I have little energy left over and then I feel guilty about that too._

 _You will have noticed that I have not mentioned Davy. Well I have no patience for Davy either. At present he is staying at Green Gables. He is practically useless, having to be fed and helped with, well with everything. That's not his fault, I know, but his continual sighing drove me mad. He has this attitude that his loss is the worst of all, as if the rest of us are not in mourning._

 _I hope you will forgive me for whining Anne, I am just completely exhausted. Yet if I stop to think, the image of Tommy in the flames comes before me and I burst into tears, it's better just to keep busy and collapse into my bed at night and try not to dream._

 _Though speaking of that, I dreamt about Tommy the other night. I don't usually remember, do you? Tommy and I were walking by Barry's pond together, he was holding my hand and skipping, pulling me along. I don't know where Matthew was? Which is odd as you never saw one without the other, Marilla used to say they were joined at the hip._ _We were just having a normal conversation, Tommy and I, but at the end he told me how happy he was. He said he would have to leave me now, but that he, he ... loved me ... and that I was the best mummy in the world, and he hoped I knew that._

 _Oh Anne, I'm crying as I write this. I suspect I will burn this letter and send a sanitised version to you, but it felt good to write it all out._

 _As to your very kind invitation, I will respectfully decline if you don't mind. I don't think a riotous Christmas is what we need right now. Maybe next year, if the offer is still open?_

 _With much love_

 _Millie Keith_

* * *

 _Ingleside  
_ _Glen St Mary  
_ _18 December_

 _Dearest Millie_

 _I am so happy you decided to send me the unedited version of your letter._

 _Darling, your pain is so deep right now, but it will diminish with time; it will never disappear, but it will ease. I read a beautiful passage a while ago which may help:_

Grief never ends but it changes, it's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love.

 _Millie, you may think I am speaking out of turn, but hear me out. You need to talk to Davy. Choose a time and a place that suits you both. Just sit and talk to him calmly. Tell him what you told me. I assure you he understands your pain. It was only when Gilbert and I started speaking to each other after Joy passed that we began to heal._

 _Please don't hesitate to pour your heart out to me, dearest sister. Write every day if it helps. I will always be here for you, as will of course Marilla, not to mention Davy if you let him._

 _I will always be,_

 _Your loving sister_

 _Anne Blythe_

* * *

Miss Prudence Storer had grown up in a small town quite like Avonlea. The youngest of four sisters she had enjoyed a happy childhood until when she was thirteen her favourite eldest sister, Grace, contracted consumption. She had watched dismayed as her previously beautiful, older sister grew pale and thin. She rubbed her back as she coughed continuously. The whole family gave a gasp of horror when the doctor first diagnosed the fatal illness. Prudence spent hours by Grace's bedside, reading, chatting, fixing her hair, watching her sleep. When Grace became too ill their parents tried to prise them apart, but Prudence would not be gainsaid and stayed by Grace's side to the very end. Before Grace's exhausted lungs finally gave up the long fight and she passed gently from this world to the next, she wished Prudence a long and happy life. Prudence found it difficult to adjust to life without her sister. It was particularly hard because she had devoted so much time to her care, so when Grace did die, Prudence found she had nothing to fill her life, it had been so full of her self-imposed nursing duties.

It was this experience that gave Miss Storer the insight into Matthew's pain. The twins had been two of the cheekiest and most delightful children Prudence had taught. They had such a sunny disposition, and were never mean-spirited in their antics. Between them they had brought the classroom to life. Many of their school chums had been to Keith's doomed Guy Fawkes' Bonfire night celebrations and, if they had not personally witnessed the tragedy, were certainly there for the aftermath. Prudence planned to make sure she supported Matthew through his grief. It seemed the class required a gentle reminder that he still needed them.

One afternoon, she asked the children to push their desks out of the way and to sit down in a circle, she sat down with them, Matthew by her side. She looked at all their inquisitive faces, they were curious as to what she had planned. Some of the boys were a bit excited at the change of scenery and were jostling each other, before she shooshed them gently and started telling them about her childhood experience with Grace. There was a shocked silence when she finished, and she asked if any of them had lost someone they loved? After a pause one of the girls explained that her beloved grandmother had died the previous autumn. Everyone had a tale to share, of a lost grandparent, sibling, pet. After a while, Miss Storer settled them down, asking "do you still remember them?" Of course everyone did, they all recalled the colour of their dogs' fur, the way they snuggled into their arms after a long day; the way their relatives loved them. Small details that were incommunicable, but desperately important. "And so," Miss Storer reminded them, "it's important to include them in your life, yes?" They all nodded solemnly at her words. She wrapped one arm around Matthew to include him, mindful that he had been quiet thus far. "Do you think you could remember that when you're talking to Matthew, here?"

"We have been, we all remember Tommy," one boy replied bravely.

Matthew shook his head, "no, I thought you'd all forgotten him, no one ever mentions him to me, it makes me s-ad," his voice broke a little at the end. There was a small pause at that, as the class took in his words.

"What are your favourite memories of Tommy?" Miss Storer probed gently, "I always loved his big bright smile when he came into the classroom. It made me happy to be here." She opened the floodgates as the class clamoured to share their memories of their lost classmate. Matthew sat still, absorbing the love they felt for his brother.

* * *

Millie knocked on the Green Gables door one afternoon, it was time to talk to her husband. Artie reached out for Marilla and happily clambered into her arms. "Would you like some tea, Mrs Keith?" Mme Soigne offered as the ladies made their way to the parlour.

"That would be lovely, it's quite cold out there," responded Millie. Looking at Marilla she enquired, "is Davy about?"

"I think he's out in the barn with John, shall I fetch him?" Marilla offered.

"No, that's fine, I'll have my tea first, then I'll wander over."

"They'll be in for their afternoon tea shortly," Marilla explained as she dawdled Artie on her knee, watching him gum a cookie.

* * *

"I always wanted to be a father, you know." Davy and Millie were sitting side by side in the Green Gables parlour, falling snow tapping lightly at the windowpanes. Marilla and John had offered to take the boys home for dinner and Mme Soigne had left for the day. Davy's head hung down and Millie had to strain to hear him, "I never knew my father, he was away working and then he died. Marilla and Anne were wonderful, don't get me wrong, but I would have liked a father. The day the twins were born was the happiest day of my life. I wanted to be the best daddy ever for them, to be the father I never had, does that make sense?" Millie nodded, Davy had never spoken of this before, "Marilla probably told you I was a bit of a handful when I arrived at Green Gables."

Millie couldn't help but smirk at that comment, Marilla had told her of some of his escapades, she nodded, "uh huh".

"I'm sure I drove them all crazy, I was wild. What I needed, what they couldn't provide, was the steadying influence of a father. Someone I could talk boy stuff with."

"You had Gilbert."

"Yes, but he was away most of the time, and there was Mr Harrison too, but neither of them had authority or responsibility over me. Together, Anne, Marilla, Gilbert and Mr Harrison gave me parts of a true father, but I yearned for the sort of relationship Milty had with his Pa. I'd watch his Pa ruffle Milty's hair or give him a hug and inside my heart would break a little. It was worse when Anne left. Marilla was never one for public displays of affection or private ones, now that I come to think about it."

"Oh, Davy," Millie felt so sorry for the little boy she eventually married.

"Hm, so when the boys arrived, I determined to be the daddy I never had. And I, and I … I couldn't even do that right, could I? I let Milty rescue Tommy from the tree, and I built that bloody bonfire down the bottom of the hill," Davy looked up into his wife's eyes as his own filled with tears, "you must despise me."

"No Davy, I love you."

"You're just saying that, it was my negligence that killed our precious boy."

"No." Millie wouldn't let Davy shoulder the blame, "no, it was an accident, Davy. Just a terrible, terrible accident. No one is to blame," she took Davy's bandaged hands in her own and ignoring his slight flinch when she gently squeezed, adding, "we have to stop blaming ourselves, it doesn't help." Davy looked at her. "I miss you Davy," Millie added, without planning, "I miss you in my bed. I miss you in my kitchen, I miss your fathering Matthew and Artie. You want to be the best father you can be, don't forget them." Millie put her hand up when Davy tried to defend his actions, "no, I'm not blaming you. I pushed you away, if anyone is to blame it's me. But I think we have to stop. We have to come together as a family again. We have to grieve together, that's what Anne advised."

"Anne? My Anne? What does she have to do with this?" Davy asked confusedly.

"I wrote to her. She told me the only way she and Gilbert overcame Joy's death was to mourn together. That's what we have to do, we have to live together and mourn our boy. I know I sent you away, I know, don't remind me, but it's time to come home now." They made their way home through the falling snow and waved goodbye to John and Marilla. Drawing Matthew onto his knee, Davy sat down by the fire and hugged him gently, saying "tell me about your day, son."

* * *

"You know," mused John, "I have an idea." They were lying in bed, John had assisted Marilla to undress, one of his favourite chores of an evening and they lay entwined, warm and comfortable under the covers.

"Hm?" asked Marilla.

"About a Christmas present for Matthew."

They had been a little bit stuck about what to buy the boy. They wanted to get him something special, something to raise his spirits. John mentioned his plan to Marilla who nodded with a smile and a gentle kiss to his cheek, "that's a wonderful idea. We'll have to run it past Davy and Millie first, though."

"Of course," agreed John, "but you think it would be all right?"

"Mm hm, I do. I think it's just the sort of thing he needs," murmured Marilla as she snuggled into his side.

* * *

Christmas was a rather quiet affair. Davy and Dora with their respective families, squeezed into Green Gables. Marilla and John welcomed them into the house as they stamped the snow off their boots. Dora helped Marilla in the kitchen, Mme Soigne had taken the day off. Despite everyone's residual sadness, they strove to make it a happy day for the children. Sara was growing up and they enjoyed watching her run about the place, Henry was just pulling himself up too. Between the two of them, they ensured that no cup of coffee was safe. Matthew happily helped the little ones open their presents.

When the last box had been unwrapped, John asked Matthew to fetch something for him, "it's in the sewing room, could you just go and get it for me?"

"Of course, Grandpa, will I be able to find it?"

"I'm pretty sure you will."

They heard a loud squeal of joy a split second after Matthew opened the door, as a furry bundle launched itself into his arms, "a puppy! A puppy! You bought Granny a puppy? What's its name?" Matthew struggled to hold the squirming pup as he brought it back into the parlour.

"No, Matthew, I bought it for _you._ He's yours," John replied with a smile, "not Granny's."

The tiny creature's small pink tongue licked Matthew on the lips as he laughed with joy, exclaiming "that's lucky, I was just about to do that myself, now I don't have to." The adults smiled, it seemed like a long time since anyone had laughed. "What's its name, grandpa?" They watched as the puppy crawled out of Matthew's arms and wobbled around the parlour floor, hesitating on its journey and dipping slightly at one point leaving behind a small puddle, "uh oh," exclaimed John with an apologetic glance at Marilla, who grimaced ruefully, "he doesn't have a name yet, Matthew, you'll have to think of something."

"Oh I dunno, can you help me Grandpa?"

"Maybe you should ask Daddy?" John suggested, as he caressed the dog's ears.

Matthew sat by Davy's feet, the puppy on his lap and looked up at his father, positively buzzing with excitement, "Daddy, what shall we call him?"

Davy regarded the small dog thoughtfully. He was predominantly black although the tip of his tail looked like it had been dipped in a tin of white paint as did his right front paw. He had a streak of white over one eye and down his chest; his ears were lopsided, one standing up straight and the other flopping down. An odd looking dog, he still looked very sweet curled up in Matthew's lap, "well, I don't know but I've got a few ideas."

"Like what?" Matthew's mind was blank, he wanted his pup to have a good name, nothing stupid like some of the ones he'd heard, Toby was a popular dog name, but Matthew wanted something special for his dog.

"Hm, well, um, how about Mowgli or Baloo?" Davy suggested, "do you have any ideas, Millie?

"You could have gotten a female dog for me, John, I could have done with another girl in the house," John smiled at her, the thought had occurred to him, but there were no bitches available. "How about Dog Friday, like in Robinson Crusoe?" Millie suggested.

"Dog Friday, that's perfect Mummy. Your name is Friday, do you like that?" Friday looked up at Matthew and gently licked his nose.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Marilla said fondly before Dora walked in from the kitchen announcing,

"It's dinner time."

The turkey had been cooked to perfection, John carved and Dora served. Once they all had a plate of steaming food in front of them John said grace as they all held hands in a thankful communion, acknowledging that it had been a hard few weeks, but that with God's love they hoped they would pull through, though they would never forget their beautiful boy. Millie sobbed quietly, as Davy hugged her shoulders. She pulled herself together and set about feeding Davy and herself the delicious food in front of them. Matthew looked down at his exhausted pup sound asleep at his feet, yipping quietly as dogs do when they dream.

As everyone was bundling up to go home under the starry sky John led Matthew away from the hubbub, "do you ever look up at the stars, Matthew?" John enquired.

"Sometimes Grandpa," Matthew yawned, he was sleepy and keen to get on home.

"Just before you go, let me show you something. Do you see those three stars up there in a row?"

"Mm, hm," acknowledged Matthew as he rubbed his eyes.

"That's Orion's Belt," John explained the constellation until Matthew changed the subject, blurting out, "some nights I dream about Tommy, Grandpa."

"I do too," John responded evenly, wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye.

"He runs away from me and I can't find him, and I'm hollering, 'wait for me, Tommy' and he's laughing and then he disappears."

John knelt down in the snow, ignoring the complaints from his knees, and hugged Matthew around his midriff, "I dream about him too," he admitted, "Granny says I wake her up."

"Is it scary?" Matthew whispered.

John didn't want to go into details, but he couldn't lie to the boy, "I feel him brush past me and I try to hold on to him, but he's just out of my re-ach," John's voice caught at the end. He welled up with tears as he felt Matthew's small arms encircle his chest, the boy's body pressed against his, in quiet solace. John hugged the bereaved child close and they stayed that way until Millie came to find them, she and Davy had said their farewells, it was time to take Friday and the children home.

Millie took Artie upstairs to bed leaving Davy and Matthew by themselves in the parlour. "Daddy, do you ever look up at the stars?" Matthew asked.

Davy looked across at his boy, "I suppose I do, yes."

Matthew ran across to the window and pulled the curtains back, it was still clear outside. He turned back towards his father saying, "may we go outside Daddy, I wanna show you something?"

"Very well," Davy responded.

All bundled up in their coats, hats and scarves, Matthew pointed out the three stars that made up Orion's Belt, "see them Daddy, they're Alnitak, Alnilam and Min… Mintaka."

"They are?"

"Yes, Grandpa told me. They're up in heaven. Grandpa says he likes to look up at them, cos they twinkle like friends, like they're looking after us. He told me I could 'magine Tommy up there."

"Oh," said Davy faintly, gulping his sobs away. He hugged his boy close and whispered into his hair, "you fill my heart up with joy, I love you more than anything," he wanted to add, but did not, I'm sorry that I'll never be the father I was before. He glanced back up at the stars, but they were obscured by cloud.

With Artie settled and sound asleep, Millie came back downstairs, surprised not to find anyone in the house. She walked out the front door and saw the silhouette of her boys in the swirling snow. Leaning against the door frame she watched as Davy hugged Matthew and nuzzled the top of his head; ignoring the weather, she went out to join them.

* * *

A/N Fun fact: in Australia, Orion's Belt is known as The Saucepan, because you Northern Hemisphere folk view it upside down.


	57. Chapter 57 Strength

Thank you to **LucindeMoon** for your beautiful review. I read it many times, it warmed my authorly heart and thanks to **Excel Aunt** for your assistance.

* * *

 **Strength**

 _4 January_  
 _Ingleside_

 _Dearest and most Marilla-est of Marillas,_

 _What a lovely surprise to open on Christmas morning. The drawing is simply divine. We had it framed and it has taken pride of place above the parlor mantelpiece. Whenever I look at it, I am transported back to my beautiful home on a warm spring day; most often to the most glorious day of my life, the day I met you and Matthew and was introduced to my marvelous new home and life._

 _I have written M. Soigne, but please thank him again on my behalf. I am smitten by his exquisite rendering of a most beloved place._

 _I do hope you had a lovely Christmas. I can picture the scene; you and John presiding over all the grandchildren. Here it was the usual tumbledown affair. The house always seems louder and happier on Xmas day. Of course, Gilbert included you Avonlea folk when he said grace, Shirley sat next to me and I felt the pressure of his hand at the mention of Tommy. It's the first loss Shirley has experienced, and he is taking it hard, poor lad._ _Still his loss is as nothing compared to you all. I hope you are all working through the trauma._

 _Look after yourself, Marilla. I know you like to think how strong you are, but don't forget to rely on the support of the folks around you._

 _I remain your loving daughter,_

 _Anne_

* * *

 _4 January  
_ _Ingleside_

 _Dear M. Soigne_

 _The first time I ever laid eyes upon_ The White Way of Delight _, as I christened The Avenue, I told my soon to be adopted father, Mr Cuthbert (Mrs Blythe's brother) that it was the first thing I'd ever seen that couldn't be improved upon by imagination. Your exquisite rendering of that beautiful spot brings such happy memories back to me. I cannot thank you enough._

 _It is such a perfect likeness of The Avenue, I can practically hear the bees buzzing when I look at the myriad of blossoms. The piece has received many compliments from my friends and neighbours. A few people have expressed interest in any other drawings you may be able to produce._

 _With good wishes,_

 _Anne Blythe_

* * *

"And how are you, dear?"

Dodging rain showers, Marilla had trudged through the mud to visit her oldest friend. Her boots removed at the front door, she sat in the parlour in her damp stockings. Rachel brought in the tea tray, set it down and poured out two cups. Handing over a cup to Marilla, she recalled that she had some cookies in the kitchen so bustled out to fetch them. On her way back in, she called out, casually; shocked when all she heard in reply was the clattering of Marilla's cup on her saucer and a subsequent wail. Rachel sped up at that and was dismayed to find Marilla sitting with slumped shoulders, hot tea spreading out over her chest and lap, the cup collected by her skirts.

Rachel backed out to fetch a couple of Thomas' old handkerchiefs, figuring that a ladies' version would not be up to the task. Upon returning, she bent over to pick up the tea cup, silently handing the handkerchiefs over to the still sobbing Marilla. Then she sat by Marilla and held her hand as she cried. They sat down next to each other, big sobs now coming from her usually stalwart friend.

After a while Marilla settled down, looking up at Rachel with red and teary eyes, "I, I'm so-rry," she hiccuped.

"Not at all dear."

"So unnecessary and now my dress," Marilla gestured at her damp, tea-stained apparel.

"Let's get you out of it. I'll wash it tomorrow."

"No, I should just go home," Marilla made no move towards the door.

"You can't go out in that, anyway," Rachel pointed out as outside they saw the rain coming down in torrents.

Marilla sighed, "I suppose not." Rachel helped her to her feet. Marilla turned around and let Rachel undo her buttons. Rachel stretched up to remove the dress from over Marilla's head and untied her stays. Marilla gave an involuntary shiver, now dressed in just her chemise and petticoats, she gave a big yawn. "I think you should have a nap," Rachel suggested. In her experience, a good cry always made one exhausted, "come along, Marilla. I'll put you in the spare bedroom." Ordinarily Marilla would argue, but all the fight had been drained out of her, like her tears. Rachel pulled back the striped tobacco quilt and Marilla gratefully climbed into the cool bed. Her eyes had closed before she hit the pillow. Backing out, Rachel went to soak the tea-stained dress in some vinegar water.

An hour or so later, she heard a knock at the door and found a damp John on her doorstep, "You haven't seen my wife by any chance, have you?" he enquired.

"Yes, she's here, she's sleeping," Rachel responded kindly, welcoming John in.

"Is she quite well?"

"She broke down," Rachel explained.

"Why do you think she did that?"

"She's exhausted, that's what. She's been supporting you all, all these months, ever since…," Rachel's voice trailed off, suggestively.

"Oh, yes of course. I suppose that's my fault," John admitted sadly.

"It's not a matter of finding fault. Marilla loves being your rock, your matriarch. But even she has her limits. I must have triggered something this afternoon."

"Why, what did you say?" John probed.

"I merely asked her how she was."

"Oh," John was dismayed at his behaviour, he'd taken Marilla's strength for granted.

"Now, now John, don't take it to heart," Rachel soothed, "everyone is suffering. You're all doing the best you can, under trying circumstances, it's not remotely surprising to me that you all have different breaking points. Marilla just reached hers is all."

"I should take her home," John declared.

"I'll just see if she's stirred. She very gratefully climbed into my spare bed, it looked rather as though she fell asleep before her head hit the pillow," Rachel explained as she walked over to the bedroom door. Knocking gently, she entered the darkened room. Marilla stirred at the noise; confused by her state of undress in an unfamiliar room, she started awake.

"Shh, it's just Rachel, dear. You fell asleep remember?"

"Oh," Marilla sat up, protectively covering her chest with her arms. Looking down then, she panicked, crying, "where's my dress?"

"You spilt some tea on it, I have it soaking," Rachel explained, "John's here, he wants to take you home."

Tears sprang to Marilla's eyes, "I can't go home undressed like this."

"I'll fetch you a coat, you can wear that over your underthings," Rachel suggested, "come now, I'll invite John in to help you."

John tentatively walked into Rachel's spare room and sat down on the side of the bed. Ashamed, Marilla turned from him, he placed his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed gently, "come, Mar. I'll take you home, hm?"

If Mme Soigne was surprised to see her employer led into the house, wet and bedraggled, wearing an old baggy coat with evidently nothing much on underneath; she made no comment, merely setting a brick in the stove to warm up. John dressed Marilla in a clean, dry nightgown and dried her hair on a towel before helping her into bed. Mme Soigne tapped on the door and silently bustled in with the warmed brick wrapped in a blanket and set it at Marilla's feet.

Marilla gratefully lay back in her bed and let her eyes close once again. John took a fond look at her as he kissed her forehead and walked back out to the kitchen, "she's exhausted," he explained to Mme Soigne's worried look.

"I'm not surprised, Mr Blythe, she's been looking after the whole family these past few months. She needs some respite."

"I know. I think complete bed rest is in order, don't you agree?"

Mme Soigne nodded, "we'll let her sleep then."

Marilla woke in the middle of the night. Her eyes opened slowly, and she looked around the darkened bedroom. It appeared that she was back in her own bed, wearing a nightgown this time. Sighing she thought back through the events of the day, before reaching out and finding John's hand. He clutched hers in his sleep and with that encouragement, Marilla closed her eyes, sinking into unconsciousness once more.

Millie called by the next day, but Mme Soigne turned her away, as she did with Davy and Dora in their turn. Only Mrs Lynde was allowed entry and that only briefly as she handed the freshly laundered dress over, "Mrs Blythe is resting," was her only explanation. John came out to explain the situation and the children went away satisfied that Marilla was being cared for. The situation quite different to the time Mrs Munch kept them from seeing John.

John sent for the minister who arrived in a flurry, his black horse standing proudly on the snowy driveway, in front of the shining carriage. The minister sat with Marilla, emerging after a while, saying that he had reminded her that the good Lord above wouldn't make her suffer any trials she wasn't strong enough to endure.

Marilla emerged an hour or so later, her hair done, apron over her housedress on as if she meant to do some housework. Mme Soigne looked on in surprise as Marilla filled the bucket with water and fetched the scrubbing brush. The floor had been scrubbed the day prior, "Mrs Blythe," she tried to intervene, but Marilla would not be dissuaded. John was reading the paper in the parlour, he looked up as Mme Soigne walked into the room. Stopping to listen, he could hear the staccato tones of the brush on the floor, "I'd just leave her to it, Mme Soigne," he advised.

Mme Soigne had to avoid Mrs Blythe as she baked. Marilla had been scrubbing for about an hour by now and quite frankly she was annoying. The kitchen was clean enough already. It was unnecessary and made Agathe feel incompetent. "Are you quite all right, Mrs Blythe?" Mme Soigne enquired gently, as she leant down in front of Marilla.

"I'm just...," Marilla snapped, biting back the rest of the sentence, which would have been 'dandy, thank you', recognizing just in time that she couldn't speak to Mme Soigne in that manner. Instead she swallowed hard before she stood up, dropped the brush into the bucket with a splash, and rushed out of the room.

"I must apologise for my wife's behaviour Mme Soigne," John called out, "she's always irritable after she's been unwell. It has nothing to do with you. I'll ask her to apologise."

"It's no bother Mr Blythe; when she's feeling better."

"She's embarrassed right now, she hates to show her vulnerabilities. Just hates to think she's as human as the rest of us. Dora and Davy told me when they were young they had to tip-toe around her after a migraine."

"I understand."

"Yes well, it's no excuse for poor behaviour."

"She's human, we all have our flaws, thank the good Lord," Mme Soigne crossed herself as she walked out of the room.

"Marilla," John called carefully as he walked into the parlour.

"What?" she snapped

"You really mustn't speak to …"

"I know! Don't _nag_ me."

"Mar," John caressed her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. He sat down at the other end of the room and watched as she picked up a book only to fling it back down, then a piece of embroidery only to have it end up in the same way. Eventually she just sat there, seething. She smoothed the skin over her knuckle watching the creases move back and forth, seemingly intent upon this most useless of tasks. He could see her shoulders heaving up and down as she breathed heavily. John knew from past experience with Marilla, and Caroline also, that she was best left alone. He'd be there for her when she admitted she needed him, but until then, she was best ignored. He picked up the newspaper and pretended to read it for a bit until, with a heavy sigh, Marilla got to her feet and stomped out of the room. Really, John smiled to himself, she wasn't far from a child in these moments.

Feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself, yet unable to control her feelings, Marilla stopped when she opened her bedroom door. The bed had been remade in her absence, with by the look of it, fresh sheets. Even after a couple of days in bed, she was exhausted. The bed looked inviting, and she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. The bedroom was the best place for that. She wanted to bury her head under the covers and stay there, hidden, from the rest of the world. Still her eyes filled with tears at the unspoken kindness of Mme Soigne who she had just snapped at in anger. Half turning but recognising that an apology was beyond her right now, Marilla walked over to the wardrobe and commenced undressing, anger making her clumsy.

Eventually she had enough buttons undone to enable her to roughly pull the dress off. Most uncharacteristically she left it puddled on the ground, desperate by now sink into her bed. The crisp, cool sheets welcomed her into their embrace. She plunged her head under the blanket and sighed. Sleep eluded her though, as angry thoughts raced around her brain. She had been rude to the housekeeper, rude to John. Hot, wet tears traced down, staining the clean sheets. Unheard, the bedroom door gently opened with a click and closed again. The mattress shifted as John climbed into the bed; wordlessly he opened his arms and with a sob she crawled in.

* * *

"Marilla wouldn't approve," Davy murmured to Millie, "she never could abide dogs inside, let alone on the bed."

"Well, I for one, believe our boy could do with the company. If a dog in his bed is what it takes to give him a good night's sleep then so be it," Millie remarked with a soft smile. Friday looked up at their voices, his tail thumping gently on the bedspread.

The dog had slotted into their lives so smoothly that after about a day, it was hard to believe he hadn't been with them all along. There had been a few accidents, of course. That was to be expected. But on the whole, little Friday was a most welcome addition to the family. Davy planned that he would sleep outside once the weather warmed up, but for now, Friday was happily ensconced on Matthew's bed. Matthew himself was perched on the side, as the dog luxuriated over the expanse. For a little dog, he sure took up more than his fair share of the space.

* * *

"And how are you all faring?" The gloomy light in the barn flickered as outside small puffy clouds obscured the sun; the effect giving Davy a slight headache. Milty had popped by one Thursday afternoon to see how they were doing. The men had moved out to the barn, they were minding Artie who had been getting under an exasperated Millie's feet as she attempted to wash the floor. Now they were sitting on the pile of hay, Milty idly fashioning small animals out of straw for Artie's amusement as they talked.

"I dunno," Davy slowly answered Milty's question. Even a simple 'how are you' couldn't be evaded with platitudes when his oldest friend was doing the asking. Milty had asked and it had taken Davy a few minutes of swirling panic to answer. Milty was a patient man despite his impulsiveness as a child. Watching Davy out of the corner of his eye as he played with the straw, he could see Davy's initial green hue fade as he considered the question. Without looking Davy straight in the eyes, he murmured in response so Davy knew he was listening.

"It's like climbing the highest mountain without a rope. When we were first wed, we thought parenthood would be the most fun, but it's so f… hard," biting back the curse for the sake of his child. Davy glanced over to his friend who nodded as he showed his latest creation, a horse or was it a cow? to a delighted Artie. Satisfied that he had Milty's attention Davy continued, "you think you have it sorted, that life's going on a pretty even keel, then wham outta nowhere you're slammed with something so terrible you can't ever predict it and then all your previous expectations go right out the window," Davy smiled at Artie as he waved the hay animal in his father's face, taking the thing from his son gently and making animal noises, before continuing, "so now we're just treading water, feeling like we're drowning; does that make sense?" Milty patted Davy's knee, "you want to know what I think?" Davy flinched, expecting the worst, "I think you're an amazing father." Davy shook his head, tears filling his eyes. "No, listen to me. Even now, you're pouring your heart out to me and yet you have time to play with little Artie here. Your heart is breaking for Tommy, yet you still have time for him," Milty nodded towards Artie, "and that takes real strength of character."

"I worry I won't ever be the father I was before, you know. I feel I failed Tommy twice over."

"Whatever do you mean?" Milty asked curiously.

"I couldn't save him from the tree, you did," Davy glanced up at his friend with a sad smile, "and I set that bloody fire at the bottom of the hill, it feels like fate had it in for him."

"Hm, looks to me like you're doing a pretty amazing job of it, just privately. I hope I'm as strong if I'm ever tested. If I turn out to be half the father you are, I'll be delighted."

Davy shook his head at his old friend but felt warmed by his words of support. They heard a call from the house, picking up Artie and the straw animals, they made their way over for afternoon tea.


	58. Chapter 58 The Art of Hearing

**The Art of Hearing**

 ** _Carmody Gazette_**

 _The suspicious death of a woman named Jane Dwyer who has recently resided with her husband in the neighborhood of Carmody has just come to the knowledge of the police authorities. It appears that about two a.m. on Saturday morning the deceased's husband got up to go to the yard and found his wife dead in the bed next to him. The man reported that his wife had been feeling unwell during the day. Their housekeeper, Mrs Irma Munch reported that she had cooked their dinner, but no one else had suffered any ill effects._

 _*.*.*_

One wintery afternoon an iron grey sky deposited swirling snowflakes upon the small town of Carmody, the nor-easterly wind sneaked around corners making it impossible to find a warm spot, but inside was snug enough. Prudence Storer was sitting in a warm café opposite her suitor, Quentin Giles, he was embarked upon a long-winded proposal to which she was only half listening, preferring instead to surreptitiously watch a besuited gentleman at the next table. He had nursed a cup of coffee for at least three quarters of an hour before he put up a finger and had it replaced by the grumpy waitress. There was something of immense interest in the newspaper in front of him, because he read it avidly before sitting back in studied thought. Pulling out his notebook he flicked through to a certain page and added a short notation, before sitting lost in contemplation, stroking his upper lip with his pointer finger.

Prudence's eyes flicked back to her suitor; Quentin's declaration of love was unexpected and unwelcome. She sat before him for a while longer as he explained his reasoning, his droning voice soporific in nature. Could she imagine spending every night for the rest of her life with him? The gentleman at the next table had come to some sort of epiphany evidently, Prudence was astonished to see him launch into action. He located a spare piece of parchment in one cavernous coat pocket and his pen and ink in another. Thinking for a moment he dashed off a quick letter, signed and sealed it before secreting it in yet another pocket. Paying the long-suffering waitress, he opened the door, letting a brief blast of cold air into the cafe to the consternation of all present, before he fastened his coat against the wind and set off across the road, possibly towards the post office, Prudence guessed.

Emboldened by his actions, Prudence stood up suddenly, her chair rushing backwards with a screech, causing the other patrons to look up at the harsh noise. Regarding Quentin critically, she flatly said, "no, I don't think so," and with that walked firmly out the door leaving her sorrowful suitor in her wake. Prudence paused for a moment as the wind caught her hat, her feathers shaking alarmingly in the stiff breeze, before she too set off across the street.

* * *

 _Carmody  
2 February _

_Dear Mr Blythe,_

 _Let me introduce myself; my name is Hiram McIlroy, private investigator. I have been for some months interested in the whereabouts and actions of a woman of your acquaintance, to wit one Irma Munch. I believe she may have been in your employ some time back. As you may know Mrs Munch was until recently resident at the Charlottetown Asylum, and as you may also know was released from there upon the findings of a report into a mass poisoning event therein._

 _I am not sure if you are aware of the string of strange occurrences that follow Mrs Munch about the island. It seems she has been working for a family residing at Carmody. I have just read of a suspicious death of a woman who had been quite healthy up until she complained of stomach cramps. It was reported that Mrs Munch had been the housekeeper and that no one else has complained of any ill effects of their dinner._

 _I do hope this letter does not distress you in any manner, Mr Blythe. I wonder if I might be permitted to call upon you in the next few days. I would like to discuss the situation with you further._

 _I am your faithful servant,_

 _Hiram McIlroy_

* * *

When he drew, Victor felt free, alive. His art didn't care that he was deaf; neither the paper, the paint nor the subject cared that he had no hearing. It gave him a feeling of power. Folks had such a hang up about communication, even his mother, but art was indifferent.

He was happiest wandering around the island sketching scenes from life. He liked still lives best, but sometimes he'd challenge himself with an action scene. He'd tried to capture his mother working at times, but found that difficult, there was something about her he couldn't render on paper, the movement was stilted and unsatisfactory. The sea was an ongoing inspiration, it changed colour depending on the weather, sometimes a deep azure blue or gun metal grey, or even a dark inky green; many weekends Victor could be found sitting on the sand sketching, silently.

He had drawn The Avenue one warm spring day. The bees were flying about, it seemed as though every tree was covered in a white blanket of blossom. His mother had translated Mrs Blythe's thank you letter for him, he found her copperplate hard to read, he was also found French easier to read than English. One phrase caught his eye:

 _Je peux presque entendre le bourdonnement des abeilles.*_

Victor sat looking at that line for quite a long time, his fingers tracing back and forth over the paper. Finally, he tapped his mother on the arm and wrote on another scrap of paper, ' _les abeilles font quel son_?'* Agathe looked at him for a long while, considering, before she attempted a light drumming of her fingers against his forearm, adding in writing, that that wasn't quite right, but it was the best she could do. Victor was still after that.

His world had tilted on its axis. The world made noise.

He had always believed that he hadn't missed on much due to his deafness. Sure, he couldn't talk to people, but he figured most of what they said was nonsense anyways, so no great loss there. A man had to make his own way in the world, and for that some degree of interaction was necessary, but to his mind people spoke altogether too much. He'd see them, their mouths moving all the time. Sometimes he wondered what they spoke about? but mostly he didn't care. Between them, his mother and he had worked out a rudimentary sign language so the basic necessities could be communicated. That it was dinner or bed time for instance.

But now, with the news that bees buzzed, it dawned on him that maybe there were more things that he was missing out on. He tapped on his mother's arm again and drew a bird and a question mark. She looked at him again and then shrugged her shoulders, she couldn't imitate all the different bird calls, she wrote out: _C'est trop, je suis désolée_.** He was angry at that, feeling that she wasn't taking him seriously, how hard could it be?

* * *

Mme Soigne chopped another potato and sighed as she deposited the pieces into a saucepan of water.

"Everything all right Mme Soigne?" Marilla enquired, as she topped and tailed the beans.

"Oh, it's just Victor, he's a bit preoccupied," Marilla waited, "well it's just a small thing," Mme Soigne didn't want to make anyone feel guilty. "It's just, oh how to put it, the other day Victor received a lovely letter from Mrs Blythe. Mrs Blythe the younger," she clarified. Marilla nodded, Mme Soigne scratched her head, "and in it she thanked him for the painting and added that she could practically hear the bees buzzing." Agathe took up the knife again and sliced another tuber.

"My Anne always did have a nice turn of phrase," Marilla stated, proudly.

"Oui, it's just, um," Marilla looked at her quizzically, "it's just Victor never knew that bees buzzed."

"Oh," understanding dawned upon Marilla.

"Yes, and now he's realizing what else he's missing out on. He keeps asking me what sounds things make. I'm finding it difficult to describe the noises we take for granted."

"Hm, yes, I can see."

"For instance, how do you describe a duck call to someone who can never hear it, or a nightingale?"

"Oh yes, that might be tricky."

"And he's getting frustrated that I can't explain these things to him."

"Let me think on it a while, Mme Soigne. Perhaps between us we can come up with some ideas to help."

"That's not necessary, Mrs Blythe. I'm sure I can manage."

"Well we'd all be happy to help. Victor is a blessing over at Davy's, I don't know how they'd manage without him."

"How are Mr Keith's hands?"

"The doctor said he'd take the bandages off next week, but he warned that they'd still be puffy and that he won't be able to manage anything strenuous for a while. Victor's services will still be required for some time yet, maybe forever, if he's available." Agathe smiled, the extra wages had come in handy, she wasn't sure how they'd manage without them if Victor's job ever came to an end.

* * *

 _Green Gables  
Avonlea  
3 February_

 _My darling Anne,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well as it leaves us._

 _However, something has happened (nothing too terrible, I hasten to reassure you) that has one of us in some degree of turmoil._

 _I understand you wrote a thank you letter to M Soigne thanking him for his lovely painting. Mme Soigne reports that there was one line in it that caused M. Soigne some disquiet. Now before you get upset, I must say that it was nothing so very terrible and I am in no way berating you for the comment, nor indeed is Mme Soigne. You wrote 'I can practically hear the bees buzzing.'_

 _Anne, M Soigne had never heard bees buzzing and in fact had never considered the possibility. The idea has shocked him and now he is demanding his mother explain all manner of sounds to him. She is finding it quite challenging to say the least. Of course, there is no way he can hear the sounds that we take for granted every day, but I would like to expand his knowledge of sound in a small measure. We have tried various methods, but if you and Gilbert could share any further ideas that would be appreciated. It should be a collective effort as you might imagine. Mme Soigne felt the responsibility was hers alone, but I believe a problem shared is a problem halved as the old adage goes. If you or the children can find a way to get the idea of sound through to Victor, we would appreciate it._

 _I remain your Marillest of Marillas_

* * *

* I can practically hear the bees buzzing. _  
_** What sound do bees make? _  
_*** There are too many, sorry.

A/N Thanks to **DearElla** for her French translation. I've only just discovered her story and it's wonderful.

I hand the conundrum over to you, dear readers. To quote Marilla, a problem shared is a problem halved. If you can come up with any innovative ways to explain sound to Victor (he is profoundly deaf) I would appreciate it, as would he.


	59. Chapter 59 Devil's Handiwork

**Devil's Handiwork**

"I hate Tommy! Why does everything have to be about Tommy all the time? He left me. I hate him," Matthew screamed, as he looked at his parents in fury before he turned and ran off, their calls to come back echoing in his ears.

* * *

"Give a rest will ya?" Richard Coleman yelled at him "you're beat, and you know it."

Richard had just been putting his lunch scraps back in his pail when the small boy hit him in the stomach. A couple of upper cuts later, mostly in self-defence, Richard thought the fight, if you could call it that, was over. Matthew got to his feet and barrelled into the larger boy's stomach with all the force he could muster. Richard caught hold of his head before it connected and held the small boy at bay, as he flailed his arms helplessly. Matthew's lip was already split, and his right eye was closing, but he was determined to get the better of Richard. Initially his classmates had been excited by the spectacle of little Matthew Keith taking on the older boy, but they watched now in a kind of grim desperation. The result was all too apparent, and it was no fun watching the small boy get flogged by the larger. The fight was broken up by Miss Storer who barged into the middle of the circle and pulled Matthew away from Richard, spitting and snarling at his opponent. "What is the meaning of this? Richard, I expect better behaviour from you."

"It's not my fault Miss Storer. He," he glanced at Matthew, "he just started hitting me out of nowhere. I dunno why? I've been defending myself."

"Looks like you've been doing more than that," Prudence knelt down by Matthew, letting go of him momentarily and was knocked off balance as he made to go after Richard once again, she reached out her arm and pulled Matthew to her again, "oh no you don't. What has he done? Why are you fighting him?"

Matthew refused to tell her, he just wanted to _hit hit hit_. "Very well, if you won't tell me, you can sit by my desk for the rest of lunch." Taking a firm hold upon Matthew's wrist, Prudence dragged him into the classroom and closed the door behind them. Sitting at her desk she started drafting a letter to his parents.

* * *

Matthew appeared at breakfast time, once again holding his damp sheets in his hands, "oh Matthew, not again?"

"Sorry Mummy, I'll try to do better."

"Never mind sweetheart, pop them in the pail for me, I'll wash them again today." Millie sighed as she dropped her head down, this was the third time this week, and it was only Thursday. Having been dry at night for years, Matthew seemed to be regressing. She had even caught him sucking his thumb once or twice; something he'd never even done as a child. She couldn't understand what was going on. Mrs Lynde told her it was nothing out of the ordinary, her older children had gone backwards in their development when her Katherine had died. They soon grew out of it. Sometimes Davy just got angry with him, which Millie felt couldn't be helpful. She had been relieved when John and Marilla had given Matthew the dog, believing Friday would help Matthew through his grief, but lately it seemed his recovery was going backwards.

Matthew reappeared and sat down at the table. Millie glanced up at the clock and commented, "you're a bit late sweetheart, eat up now and then you'll have to run, else you'll be late for school." She placed a glass of milk and a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. The sugar was in the middle of the table. Matthew leant over to pull the bowl towards him and rattled his glass on the way, "watch that glass, Matthew, if you're not careful you'll tip it over." Matthew looked her in the eye and with one finger, tipped the glass over, watching as the milk cascaded down the side of the table onto the floor.

Friday dashed over and started licking the milk, delighted at how his morning was turning out. Exasperated, Millie put her hands on her hips and glared at Matthew, "what was all that about?" Matthew rocked back on his chair, so that the front legs were in the air, something they had expressly forbidden and looked defiantly up at her. "Go, just go," Millie waved him out the door, too exhausted to battle with him this morning, Artie had kept her up during the night and she was already exhausted.

Millie wiped a stray wisp of hair from her eyes with the back of her hand, she had no idea what was going on with her boy? He'd been fine for a few months. They had had a terrible winter, but everything was settling down now. She felt tired all the time, but that was to be expected. She hadn't told Davy yet, but her blood had stopped, and her breasts were tender. She was sure there was another baby on the way. She had been pleased at first, their family had appeared to weather the crisis. But now? Now, she wasn't so sure.

* * *

"Waaahhh, whhhaaaahhhh," Artie cried out. Millie rushed back into the kitchen to find Artie in tears and Matthew sitting back with a look false innocence on his face.

"Honestly, can't I leave you two alone for one minute?" Millie cried out in exasperation.

"I barely touched him," Matthew remonstrated.

"Go and see to your chores, Matthew, I'm sure you haven't done any of them yet," Millie ordered and watched as he insolently stuck out his tongue at his brother before he walked out the door. Millie bent down to placate the baby with a small kiss.

* * *

John was sitting in the parlour reading the newspaper one afternoon when Mme Soigne brought him in a cup of tea and a snack on a tray. Marilla was out visiting Rachel. They looked up when they heard a loud banging from outside. John got up to investigate and was dismayed to find Matthew bashing Marilla's precious rose bush in a ghastly repeat of his actions from year before. The difference being that this time he knew full well that it was a dreadful crime. "Matthew, stop that immediately." Matthew looked up at his grandfather defiantly, gave the bush one last bash with his stick, then throwing it in John's direction, ran off. Ducking the stick, John called after him, telling him to come back at once, but the boy had fled.

"What was all that about," Mme Soigne asked him.

John shrugged as he knelt down to investigate the rosebush. Marilla had tended to it so carefully this time. It wouldn't do if any harm were to come to it again. More worryingly of course, was Matthew's motivation in the first place. He knew how precious the bush was to his grandmother.

* * *

After dinner the next night, Agathe and Victor were chatting, passing a slate back and forth between them as they nursed their coffees.

 _How is young Matthew getting on?_ Agathe started.

 _Sad_ Victor wrote

 _Sad?_ She looked at him quizzically _you mean bad?_

 _Sad_ Victor jabbed the slate with the chalk for emphasis.

 _He doesn't act like he is sad_

 _He's grieving_

 _Then why is he behaving so badly?_

 _Better bad attention than no attention_ Victor wiped the slate clean and continued, _he is angry at his brother_

 _Artie?_

 _Other one dead one_

 _But he died_

 _Yes_

 _I don't think they understand that yet_

Agathe leant back in her chair, and sipped her coffee thoughtfully, that poor family.

* * *

"Brother," Dora leaned over and kissed Davy on the cheek, "are you all well?"

"We're worried about Matthew."

"Matthew? I thought he was getting over it, I mean not over over it, but you know, adapting."

"We thought so too, but he's acting up, temper tantrums, wetting the bed, disobedient, fighting at school, teasing Artie. We're at our wit's end. He even tried to kick the dog the other night."

"Oh," Dora's hand went up to her mouth, "I thought he loved Friday."

"I thought so too, seems I was wrong."

"Davy, do you mind if I talk to him?"

"Be my guest. I can't get through to him, he even yelled at Marilla the other day."

"Oh, goodness, I don't think I'd ever be so brave."

"I know, I was half admiring of his bravado, despite being ashamed of his behaviour, you know. You have to be really wound up to yell at Marilla."

"How did she take it?"

"Well, Mrs Lynde was there too."

Dora giggled a bit, "wish I'd been there."

"It really was something," Davy added. "Marilla was conciliatory, but Rachel was indignant on her behalf. Told me I needed a birch switch to keep him in line."

"Oh Davy, you'd never."

"Nope, in all the time we lived with Marilla she never hit me, and I'm dashed if I'm going to whip Matthew, no matter how bad his behaviour is."

"I suppose he's still at school?"

"If he's there at all? He's been playing truant. I have to escort him there in the morning and physically hand him over to Miss Storer. He missed a few days and she assumed he was unwell. Turned out he'd been spending the day playing in the woods. Oh, look here he comes now. You can talk to him if you like."

Dora turned to see her nephew walking sullenly towards them. His face usually lit up when he saw her, they were good friends, but today she could see that he'd been crying, tear lines tracked down his cheeks. "Hey Matthew," Dora called out gently, "Can we talk?"

"G'way," Matthew yelled.

"Matthew, don't you dare be so rude to your aunt," Davy admonished. He turned to Dora, "you can sit in the barn if you like, I'll ask Millie to bring you out some afternoon tea." Dora nodded and turned to Matthew, saying, "c'mon Matthew, I just want a quick word. Will you come to the barn with me?"

Matthew stood still, scuffing his feet in the slushy snow, reluctant to go anywhere with a grown up. He had had a bad day at school and all he wanted was the oblivion of his room. Friday had bounded up when he saw Matthew arrive and now he jumped up to Matthew's waist, licking him. Matthew pushed the dog off roughly, yelling at him, "get off, g'way, go on, git!" the dog fell down and cowered a little. Dora watched the whole thing play out in with a tear in her heart. Something was definitely wrong.

She led the boy over to the barn where they sat down side by side in the straw. Victor was working out the back, cleaning out a stall, but since he couldn't hear them, Dora did not feel the need to ask him to leave. "You know Daddy and I are twins, don't you?" she started.

Matthew had no choice but to be there, but he was determined not to engage with his aunt. Maybe she'd give up if he was silent? Dora was unperturbed and launched into her speech, "yes, we're twins. But your father was not very nice to me, did you know that?" she looked across at Matthew who was staring at the ground, idly tracing shapes in the straw with his finger. "One day he locked me in Mr Harrison's shed and told Marilla that I might have fallen in the well. I know Marilla and Anne were desperately worried, but he didn't even seem to get in much trouble when Anne eventually freed me. He was always playing mean tricks. I knew I had to love him because he was my brother, but I didn't like him very much. And you know what?" she saw Matthew look across at her out of the corner of her eye, "even when he was so naughty, I think Anne and Marilla loved him, maybe even more than they loved me. It wasn't fair you know, I was well behaved, and he got all the attention. I guess I thought one of us had better be good or they'd send us both away. I had to protect Davy. You know who my favourite person was back then?" Matthew shook his head. "Mr Boulter," she explained, "when your daddy met him, they became best friends and Davy left me alone."

As he forked manure out of the stall, Victor glanced across the barn and was surprised to see Matthew sitting with his aunt. He hoped she was helping him.

"I hate Tommy," Matthew said in a very small whisper.

"I bet you do. He left you, didn't he?" Dora was careful to keep all emotion out of her voice, even as she felt dismayed by his words. Matthew nodded, tears tracing down his cheeks; sticking out his tongue, he licked snot off his top lip. "And I bet that feeling has you all confused doesn't it?"

Matthew nodded again.

"It's a powerful feeling, hate. It makes you feel strong, but in a mean way. Do you ever feel scared of your feelings, Matthew?"

A shy nod.

Dora could hear the tread of a person coming and the dog bounding about nearby, she didn't need a distraction at this point, so she quickly added "it's all right to feel that way, Matthew."

"Mrs Lynde thinks the Devil is making me do it," he whispered, Dora had to strain to hear him.

"Huh, Mrs Lynde. I don't care what she thinks, do you?"

"I dun-no?" though he did, he was desperately worried about it.

"God loves you Matthew, even when you are naughty. I don't think the Devil has anything to do with it," Dora paused, "I bet you don't know quite how to put all your feelings into words?"

"Nuh," Matthew was still looking at the ground.

"No, and all those feelings are a bit scary, aren't they? You feel sad and angry and frustrated all at once and you don't know how to make them go away.

"Mm," Matthew nodded.

"So, you take it out on everyone around you, then you hate yourself for that."

Big tears rolled down Matthew's face, he wiped his lip with the back of his hand, before Dora passed him her handkerchief. Dora looked up when a shadow crossed the doorway to see Millie dodging the dog with a tray in her hands. She got up quickly and took the tray from Millie and placed it down on the ground then turned back up to her and quietly asked her to leave them alone for a while longer. Looking at her tearful son, Millie pressed her handkerchief into Dora's hand with a squeeze and left them to it.

Sipping her tea and watching Matthew gulp his milk, Dora was contemplative. The poor boy was really beating himself up, and Mrs Lynde wasn't helping. As soon as she was finished here, she decided to go and have a word with Marilla. She'd know what to do, no one could manage Rachel Lynde like Marilla, in Dora's experience.

"Are you ready to see Mummy and Daddy now, Matthew?"

"I don't know if they want to see me?" he said sadly, as he licked his milk moustache off.

"They do, they love you, Matthew."

"They wish they still had Tommy, I should have died instead."

"Darling boy, of course not." Dora placed her arm around Matthew's shoulders, "they love you. They miss Tommy every day, but they'd wouldn't want you to change places with him. If you had … had been the one … the one who – died," Dora forced out, hating to say the words, "they would be just as upset as they are now."

"You think?"

"I know." Dora stated flatly, brooking no argument. The matter was closed as far as she was concerned, but she felt Matthew might need more reassurance as the months and years passed.

She got to her feet and bent down to take Matthew's hand, "shall we go and see them?"

"Uh … huh," Matthew was still reluctant, he knew he had been behaving badly, he wasn't sure what the reception would be like, even now.

"You don't sound sure, do you want to stay here, and I'll go talk to Mummy and Daddy for you? Friday can keep you company but mind he might eat all the cookies," Dora said with a fond smile.

"Would you Aunty Dora?" Matthew's relief was palpable, he could feel it deep in his stomach.

"Of course, darling." She kissed the top of his head and left him with the dog. Glancing back, she saw him break a cookie in half to share. She was sure that deep in the gloom of the barn, Victor was still working, but she did not know if he had noticed them.

Victor watched her leave and saw Matthew throw a morsel of the cookie to the dog who caught it in its mouth. Victor couldn't tell, but he looked like a weight had come off his shoulders.

"Well?" Millie asked as Dora approached her and Davy standing in the front door.

"He's terribly upset," Dora said by way of explanation.

"For being naughty?"

"Millie, he thinks you'd rather Tommy had lived instead of him."

"Oh!" Millie clapped her hands to her mouth, while Davy's eyes filled with tears. "We would never feel like that."

"I know, I told him so, but you might have to repeat that message over the coming years," Dora walked up to them both, adjusting the level of her voice as she came closer, "he said he's not very happy with Tommy right now."

"Not happy with ... Tommy?" Davy was confused.

"Well, he hates him for leaving him."

"Oh," understanding was taking form in Davy's mind, "that must make him feel very confused."

"Ah ha, and he feels awful for feeling that way, he thinks he needs punishment for those feelings, so he's acting out."

"And I've been punishing him for it," Davy said sadly, "poor boy," he looked at Millie, "shall I go and speak with him?"

"Be gentle on yourself, Davy, it's not easy for anyone."

Davy found Matthew in the barn, Victor sitting by him, the dog in his lap. Victor got up once he saw Davy arrive, nodded to him and left them to it.

"He a friend of yours?" Davy nodded in the direction of Victor's back.

"I guess." Davy nodded, the boy needed all the friends he could get. He wished he had some friends his own age, now that his best friend had left him.

"Do you get lonely, Matthew?"

Matthew looked up at his father in surprise, he had been expecting him to say something else entirely, "I guess."

"You never had to make friends? You had Tommy, you didn't really need anyone else, did you?"

"Aunt Dora told me you weren't friends," Matthew looked up at his father.

"No, I wasn't very nice to Dora when we were little." Davy admitted, guiltily.

"Why?" Matthew asked curiously.

"Oh, I dunno, I was young and silly. We all make mistakes, Matthew. It's normal."

"Did you get into trouble?"

"I did. Can you imagine Marilla being cross with you? She kinda goes all quiet. And I just hated disappointing Aunty Anne, that was worse somehow."

"So, why'd you do all those bad things, Daddy?" It didn't make sense to Matthew, even though he was currently in trouble for doing some silly things himself.

"I don't know, I just got lost in the moment. I didn't think things through, I just wanted fun. I wasn't big on consequences do you know what those are?"

"Mm hm," but Matthew looked unsure.

"They're the things that happen after you're bad. Getting a telling off is a consequence of being naughty. I'd forget that there would be a consequence. But I don't think that's what's happening to you is it?" Matthew shook his head. "You feel so bad you want to get into trouble, you think that you deserve it because of the way you feel." Davy looked down at his beautiful son. "Matthew," he said as he drew the boy onto his lap, "don't ever think we don't love you. Mummy and I love you so so much. We are so lucky to have you in our life. I'll always miss Tommy, but don't ever think I wish something had happened to you instead of him. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have you and you'll always be my son. I'm so proud of you."

"Oh Daddy," Matthew's heart was bursting. He twisted his body and threw his arms around his father's neck and sobbed. Davy could feel his hot tears run down his chest. When Matthew's sobs had subsided into the occasional hiccup, he said "I'm sorry Daddy."

"That's all right, son. We love you," he looked up as Millie walked in to the barn, Artie on her hip. She stood looking at her men fondly and walked over to join in the hug. The four of them lay in the straw, hugging and kissing. Millie picked up a handful of straw and flung it at Matthew who laughed when it landed in his face. Before they knew it, they were enjoying a straw fight, the hay blowing about in the needlepoints of light that streamed through the nail holes in the roof. Victor glanced down at them from where he was perched in the upper story of the barn. Mad he thought to himself, but it did look like fun. He was happy to see they were enjoying themselves. He liked this family.

* * *

Marilla poured the tea, "what's this I hear you been saying about Matthew being influenced by the Devil?"

"Oh Marilla, you've taken things completely out of context," Rachel bridled, "I may have mentioned that I thought the Devil had a hand in his behaviour."

You said what, Rachel?" Marilla was furious.

"Well it might be true for all we know, that's what." Rachel defended her actions.

"Oh, for goodness sake, as if the lad doesn't have enough to put up with? Now you've gone and mentioned eternal damnation. I thought you had more sense than that?"

"You do hear of it," Rachel was adamant that she had done no wrong.

"Uhh," Marilla threw up her hands in disgust, "I think you need to apologise to the boy."

"Well I didn't say it to him directly. Little pitchers must have big ears."

"You shouldn't have said it at all. You do have a habit of saying things out of turn. Remember how you first greeted Anne when she arrived at Green Gables?"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Marilla, that was decades ago, I think we can put that behind us."

"That may well be true, but there's a pattern. You have to be more careful." Marilla poured her another cup of tea angrily and watched guiltily as Mme Soigne came to mop up the resulting mess after she spilled some.

* * *

John sat at the kitchen table, his lunch forgotten as he reread the contents of a letter, he went pale and gasped. Marilla looked up from her sandwich curiously, "what is it?"

Wordlessly, John handed the letter over to her, its creased pages hard to decipher. Marilla put her reading glasses on and scanned it quickly, in the first reading only catching the words, 'Carmody', 'Munch' and 'death'. "Oh John," she breathed, "what shall we do?"

"He wants to meet me, I don't think, I don't know. I don't..." John faded into silence. He felt ill all of a sudden. He had put all thought of Irma Munch out his head finally, but now she seemed to be rearing her ugly head again. He didn't know if he could go through with it.

"I think we should meet this man," Marilla determined once she had read through the letter more carefully, "I'll be with you. I won't leave you. But we have to stop this woman. She's a menace. If Rachel thought she saw the Devil's handiwork in poor Matthew's actions, I can only imagine what she will say when she hears Irma is still at work."

"I suppose so, it makes me feel sick to the stomach."

Marilla looked at her husband, shocked to see how pale he had gone, "do you want to write back, or shall I?"

John's hands were shaking, "can you do it, I don't think I can manage right now." Marilla nodded and went to fetch her pen and paper.


	60. Chapter 60 Chalk and Cheese

Thanks to **ExcelAunt** for asking about Millie's background and for some advice **OriginalMcFishie** gave me weeks ago.

* * *

First he had to find a jar.

Rummaging around in the pantry for a nearly empty jam jar, Matthew eventually located one behind the last container of stewed plums his mother had laid down last summer. The lid was screwed on pretty tight, but he utilised the little trick he'd seen his mother use. Knocking it against the table, he heard the little pop as the seal broke and then it came off easily enough. The bait was easy, the smear of jam left inside would prove irresistible. He sniffed the jar, its delicious summery aroma wafted up to him making his mouth water, but he had bigger fish to fry.

Next he walked outside to locate his prey. Even in this cold weather a few insects should be out and about. After a while a fly came buzzing around, enticed by the sugary smell. Matthew watched it intently as it settled, then flew up half an inch or so, then settled down on the jam again, probably delighted at this unexpected treat. Carefully but quickly, he slammed the lid on the jar, and screwed it shut. The fly buzzed up at that and bashed itself against the lid and the glass repeatedly, desperate to find a way out of the trap.

Delighted with his work, hugging the jar close to his chest he jogged over to the barn. He found Victor working in the back, doling out hay to the cows. It was so tempting to call out, but Matthew had experienced how futile that was. Instead he climbed into the stall, patted the cow on her flank and waved an arm in front of Victor.

Victor was surprised to find young Matthew in front of him, partially obscured in a cloud of straw. Setting down his pitchfork, he watched as Matthew held out the jar, wiggling it slightly to encourage him. Victor took it, looking intently at the fly caught within. He looked at Matthew. Matthew took out the piece of paper he had brought along with him for just this purpose. He had asked Mme Soigne to translate for him. On it he had written just one word, _bourdonner*._

Placing his hands around the jar, Victor looked up at Matthew who tapped his cheek, so in wonder he placed the jar there too. As it battered against the jar in its desperation, Victor caught the vibrations of the fly. Keen to feel more, he unscrewed the lid and carefully lifted it so that just a slight crack was exposed. When the fly flew up, he caught it in his big fist and felt it as it buzzed in his palm. A smile broke out across his face at that as the tiny creature hummed against his skin. Matthew tapped the word again as Victor grinned at him. Bourdonner! He understood what his mother meant by bourdonner. It was just like hearing. Unclasping his palm he watched as the small insect stopped bashing itself against his palm, it sat on his hand for a millisecond before it flew away; he looked at Matthew and they grinned at each other.

* * *

"Right Mr Keith," announced Doctor Mustard, "I think it might finally be time to have a look at those hands of yours."

Davy sat down at the kitchen table apprehensively, he had been wearing these bandages since early November. The initial pain had subsided, but the clumsiness of his bandaged hands had remained.

Working carefully Doctor Mustard unwound the outer layers. Millie and Davy watched the growing mound of at first dirty grey, then stark white bandages as they piled up on the tabletop. Eventually, the last of the coarse bandages were removed, leaving the soft inner bandaging around Davy's individual fingers. Doctor Mustard sighed as he looked into Davy's eyes, "ready?" Davy felt slightly nauseated as he looked up at Millie as she smiled encouragingly and then at the doctor. He gulped and nodded yes.

He had felt guilty when the burning pain had waned, as though it were the last reminder of his lost son, but now as the wrappings fell away, Davy had the first sight of his fingers. Millie gasped at the whorls of scarred tissue that covered what remained of his hands. Davy looked at them, realising that the scars would serve as a constant reminder of that night and his lost son as nothing else could.

"I suspect they'll be tender for a while yet, Mr Keith. I believe you have a hired hand to help around the place?"

"Yes, that's correct," Millie responded after a beat, Davy silently staring at his bare hands, turning his wrists slowly as he examined every inch.

"I'd advise you to keep him on for a while yet. I can't see you chopping wood or farming for a long while yet, if ever," the doctor advised gently, with a hand on Davy's wrist. "I have some exercises for you to try, Mr Keith," continued the doctor, "your fingers will be very weak."

Davy and Millie discussed the ramifications of the doctor's pronouncement after he left. "But what if I can't work, Mil? What will I do?"

"We'll work something out, Victor can help for the time being."

"Oh yes, thank goodness for Victor," replied Davy sarcastically. "Where would we be without our French saviour."

"There's no need to speak like that, Davy," Millie admonished him. "He's been very useful, I don't know how we could have survived these last weeks without him."

"I know, I know, ignore me, I'm sorry. I'm just feeling a bit sorry for myself is all," said Davy, sighing.

For the first time in weeks, Davy was relieved to be able to feed himself his dinner. The novelty was not lost on him.

* * *

A high-pitched scream rent the night. Marilla woke with a start as John screamed, "no, no".

"John?" she jostled his shoulder, "what is it?"

John turned and collapsed into her outstretched arms crying, "I can't. I just can't do it."

"Sh, sh. Talk to Mr McIlroy d'you mean?" she could feel John nodding against her. "No. I can see that. It's too upsetting isn't it?"

"You, you won't force me. I know I should speak to him," John stammered.

"No, I can tell you're too distressed. We'll ask the children to take care of it."

John hugged her close. Ever since they had received Mr McIlroy's letter his stomach had been tied in knots and he had been suffering from nightmares; they both had dark circles under their eyes from many broken nights. At Marilla's announcement they would pass the task onto the children, John experienced a feeling of contentment and calmness which made him realise just how upset Mr McIlroy's letter had made him. He had thought he'd put Irma behind him, but as soon as he read the letter, awful feelings of helplessness and terror came flooding back. That really was the worst interlude of his life.

Marilla could feel his body relax against hers as she rubbed his back comfortingly. It would have been better if John could have spoken to Mr McIlroy, but it evidently wasn't possible. They had been talking of little else this past week as John kept returning to the matter, rehashing the pros and cons. Marilla felt relieved a decision had been made once and for all, "I'll talk to the children in the morning and then we'll reply to Mr McIlroy." John nodded in agreement. A gesture Marilla felt more than saw as the entire conversation had taken place in the pitch dark, with not even the glimmer of a moon on this cloudy night.

"You do look after me," John murmured as he nuzzled into her side.

"Always," she replied sleepily as she kissed his hair, "always."

Wiping the sleep from her eyes as she lay in bed the next morning, Marilla thought about how to broach the subject with the children. They had seen nearly as much of Mrs Munch as she and John had and knew all too well how deadly she could be. Marilla shuddered to think what might have happened if Dora and Davy had not appeared when they did.

* * *

 _Montreal  
15 February_

 _Millie,_

 _I hope you are keeping well. You sound as if you are still grieving Tommy terribly. Whilst it was of course a shocking accident, never forget that it was God's will. You must be rest assured in the knowledge that Tommy is in a better place and that one day, with God's grace, you will be reunited._

 _We continue to do well here. Your sister is happy making her new home. She was able to procure some lovely soft furnishings recently, and the drapery is very fine._

 _Montreal is large and cosmopolitan. Wherever you go you hear the Frenchies speaking their version of French. It is not quite the same as the French I was taught at school, but I can usually make myself understood._

 _Dorothy has made many friends here and we have a jolly time meeting them all. It is all very social, yesterday afternoon we paid a visit to Dorothy's new neighbours, the Mundles who have a beautiful house with many fine furnishings._

 _Surprisingly your father is quite taken with the big city. He talks of the wonders hereabouts, the fine buildings and parks. The rich carriages, the beautiful food._

 _Father sends his regards. He hopes you will stop wallowing in grief, as do I. You are not the first family to lose a child, nor will you be the last._

 _I remain your loving mother_

* * *

Watching out the window, Dora watched Millie approach, daintily stepping around the mud puddles, young Artie in her arms; she paused momentarily to hitch the slipping baby back up. The two women had known each other even before Millie had married Davy, but they had never been close. Now, as members of the same extended family they enjoyed getting together with their small children. This time it was Dora's turn to host. "Welcome," her bright demeanour slipping as she saw the look on Millie's face. "What's the matter?" she asked as she took the baby out of Millie's arms to let her take her muddy boots off before she walked inside.

"My folks, that's all," replied Millie despondently, "you wouldn't understand, but my mother…" she trailed off as she took in her surroundings. Stumping along the path she had been grousing to the baby about his unfeeling grandmother but felt she had better rein it in in front of Dora.

"Come in, I've got the water boiling. You can tell me all about it over tea."

Millie walked into Dora's parlour, it was a glad sight. February was a hard month, the hope that the worst of winter might be over was in everyone's mind, but the cold wind had infiltrated her bones on this chilly day. Bending down she removed Artie's coat and sat him down on the floor. Young Sara toddled over and gave her cousin a big kiss on his cheek in her rather heavy-handed manner, causing little Artie to almost topple over at her enthusiasm.

"There now," Dora said as she placed the tray down on a coffee table. Sitting down after serving the tea and biscuits for the children, Dora looked at Millie, "so, tell me everything."

Millie described the letter she had received, its heartlessness and how happy her parents seemed to be in faraway Montreal. "It's like they don't care." Millie sniffed, taking out her handkerchief. "You have a loving family, you wouldn't understand."

She had had mixed feelings when her parents declared they were leaving Avonlea on the premise of helping her younger sister out with her baby. Wasn't her situation more difficult than most? But her relationship with her mother had ever been fraught. Millie could hear her mother's voice berating her as she read the letter. Never had her mother provided half the love and affection she had received from Davy's family. Millie had been nervous of Miss Cuthbert the first time she met her. The woman had a reputation around town as pious and stern. It had not taken Millie long, however, to see her softer side and now Marilla provided as much love and concern as she could for them all. Something her own mother seemed incapable of doing.

"Hm..." Millie's words took Dora back to her one night in her lonely childhood. Their new house looked nice enough with its welcoming green gables, but she was used to sharing her bed with Davy. They had been together forever, and she missed his hot body pressed into hers at night; which was funny because she never really liked it anyway. Perched on the edge of stern Marilla's bed, listening to her guardian snore, Dora sobbed quietly for her lost life.

Dora didn't know what to think of the new direction life had taken? Mama had been ill for as long as she remembered, never having enough energy to look after Davy or herself. Her brother tormented her ceaselessly; first her mother, then Anne and Marilla had ignored her. Chalk and cheese was how everyone described them. Dora never knew if she was the chalk or the cheese?

"You'd think that, I suppose," Dora mused as she patted Millie's hand, "but it had its moments."

* * *

Hiram was explaining the situation to Davy and Dora. Initially he had been unhappy when he received the Blythe's letter. Irma's survivors were few and far between, finding one was a rare treat which Hiram aimed to capitalise upon as much as possible. However upon meeting Mr Keith and Mrs Andrews, Hiram was slightly mollified. They knew her reasonably well and had witnessed the damage she was more than capable of inflicting upon her victims.

Mr McIlroy had a distinctive nasally twang to his voice. Dora struggled to pay attention to his words, as his accent was quite difficult to follow; with a conscious effort she tuned into his words "… worked all over the island," Hiram leant down to his satchel and pulled out a dossier of newspaper cuttings. They could see there several to choose from. Hiram picked one up and read it out loud:

 _The investigation of a case of suspicious death was begun at Charlottetown yesterday. The deceased was Emma Morgan 53. The day before her death the deceased had suffered with an insatiable thirst. Despite the efforts of her housekeeper to keep her hydrated with barley water, lemon water and linseed tea, the deceased continued to ask for more. The housekeeper reported that she had taken some jam with her breakfast the day prior. The jam had been purchased at the nearby store. She added that the deceased had never spoken of an intention to poison herself._

"And you think this might be Mrs Munch?" Davy suggested, rubbing his hands together, the feeling of his scarred skin still unfamiliar to him.

"Uh, huh," Hiram nodded, "and here's another one:

 _Respecting the case of suspicious death at White Cliffs on Sunday morning, after a long and careful post-mortem examination of the body of the deceased William Sonth, it has been found that the death was due to dehydration caused by an upset stomach._

"They go on and on," he said, brandishing a handful of cuttings. "What can you tell me about her?"

"I thought she was perfectly helpful," reflected Dora, "funnily enough Mrs Blythe was never very keen on her. I thought she was paranoid and maybe a bit jealous."

"Jealous?" snorted Hiram, "with that port wine stain down half her face, she's no looker."

"No, that's true," Dora admitted, "but she was very attentive to Mr Blythe, a wonderful nurse as it were."

"Oh, that's interesting," Hiram admitted with a grimace, he pulled out his notebook and added a notation. "Tell me more about her nursing." Dora looked surprised, "I'm sorry Mrs Andrews, it's just I get so few chances to speak to survivors." Hiram licked the tip of pencil and hovered it over the page, waiting.

"Well," Dora hesitated, "where to begin?"

* * *

* Buzz


	61. Chapter 61 Fly on the Wall

_**Fly on the Wall**_

Hiram looked over his notes. Mrs Andrews had been measured and calm. Mr Keith less so, being enthusiastic but somewhat muddled. No, it was the stalwart Mrs Keith whom Hiram found to be the more reliable informant, according to her Irma was a committed, perhaps too committed, nurse.

His notebook was covered in a soft, yet strong, leather binding. Its pages were thin and covered in scribbled writing, coffee stains and water marks. Lines connected ideas to facts. Some notations were circled or had asterisks next to them. In short it was a mess, but one that made sense to Hiram, and that was all that mattered. He sat staring at this new information for some time, linking ideas in his brain, making the necessary connections before writing down his thoughts and circling the lot with several lines. He had a hunch, just a hunch, but if it were true then… Grabbing his coat and hat he dashed out the door.

* * *

"So how did it go?" Marilla asked, Davy and Millie, Dora and Ralph were sitting in the Green Gables parlour. Mme Soigne had just poured the tea and backed out of the room, leaving the family to the business at hand.

"Well, it was interesting…" Davy started to tell the story of their interview with Mr McIlroy. He watched as John reached out blindly to clutch Marilla's hand, she grasped it firmly back with both hands. But as Davy continued talking, John could not stand it, instead he lumbered to his feet leaning heavily on the arm of the sofa and shuffled out of the room. Davy paused, looking at Marilla. "Go on," she urged. "He can't bear to listen, but I suppose I had better."

"Dora was the star, you tell her, sis," said Davy, looking admiringly at his sister. He could hardly believe whom she had metamorphosed into in the last few years, she had been so meek when they were growing up. Now he was proud to be her brother.

"Well, I guess I just explained what happened. I admitted that she was an exemplary nurse. Well she was," Dora reiterated at Marilla's eye roll.

"Anyway, he found that very interesting and asked me to elaborate. He very much wants to meet you both."

"Well he can't. I hope you told him in no uncertain manner. We will not meet him. You can see John can't even bear to be in the same room when we're discussing her. I had better go to him. You can see yourselves out." She kissed them all goodbye and left them to it.

"Goodness, Irma really did a number on him," Ralph commented into the void that Marilla left behind.

"I think for the first time in his life," Millie speculated, "he realised that he was mortal."

"According to Mr McIlroy, he was very lucky," Davy said. "She's quite the serial killer, he believes."

"Oh?" Ralph turned to look at his brother in law, "do tell?"

But it was Dora who answered him. Leaning over and setting her tea cup down on the tray as she spoke, she said, "oh yes, he's got all these newspaper clippings, if she's responsible for even half of them, she might have killed over a dozen victims in the last few years."

"So why isn't she in jail?" Ralph queried.

"They can't pin any of them on her and remember she did wind up in the insane asylum after she tried to poison John," Dora explained.

"But then she was released," Millie recalled.

Davy observed with a grimace, "yes, because the judge determined that she couldn't have been responsible for their mass poisoning event."

"So where is she now, did Mr McIlroy say?" Millie asked.

"Somewhere on the island, he thinks. It's impossible to know," Dora replied, "I just hope she stays away."

* * *

Marilla found John curled up over the bowl in their bedroom. He had been ill. "Have you finished, darling?" John retched again, bringing up only bile. Marilla sat down on the side of the bed and leant over to rub his shoulders. Eventually John sat back up, Marilla got up to fetch a towel and dampened it slightly before she wiped his face with the cool cloth. John was shivering, his teeth chattering. "They've gone now love, shall we get some tea?"

Uncertain of his voice, John nodded in affirmation and together they walked out to the kitchen, Marilla's arm around his waist. Mme Soigne had a pot of tea ready to pour and she set out their afternoon tea again, understanding that John had missed out the first time round. John felt much revived after his first sip. "You must think I'm a fool." John hung his head low.

"Sh, sh, I think no such thing." Marilla patted his hand comfortingly. "You had a terrible shock, and you're still recovering."

"I don't know if I'll ever fully recover, Mar. Just knowing she's still out there, it's, it's..." he shook his head at her, as he ran out of words.

* * *

 _The Convention, considering the incontestable superiority of articulation over signs in restoring the deaf-mute to society and giving him a fuller knowledge of language, declares that the oral method should be preferred to that of signs in education and the instruction of deaf-mutes.*_

Gilbert frowned as he read the resolutions from the Conference on Education of the Deaf held in Milan a decade or so earlier. He turned his attention specifically to the first resolution and shook his head. As far as he knew academics in the States were against this theory and continued to teach the deaf to sign, thankfully. That seemed the best solution to him. Marilla had written to him recently asking for his considered advice. Truth be told, Gilbert had seldom come across the problem, it was in his opinion made more complicated because of course M. Soigne was more comfortable communicating in French.

Given Dr Blythe's keen interest in Victor's situation, Agathe couldn't help but feel guilty. Not only could they not afford the fees associated with sending Victor to L'Institute Catholique des Sourds-Muets she couldn't manage without his wages in the first place. And yet, she turned over in her bed restlessly, unable to sleep, and yet, it was such a wonderful opportunity for him, could she deny him his one chance to communicate?

Not to be thwarted, Gilbert wrote away to the Montreal Institute for the Deaf and Mute on her behalf. Taking up his pen, Gilbert considered how to start, sucking his pen absentmindedly before committing to the salutation and following missive.

 _Avonlea  
Prince Edward Island_

 _3 March_

 _Dear Sirs_

 _I have been researching your very fine work on deaf communication with interest. Known to me is a man lost his hearing after he was afflicted with Scarlet Fever at a young age. He can read and write but is profoundly deaf. While it would be more beneficial for him to study at your academy, his mother informs me that the cost of the studies and the lost wages as a result of such studies put it quite out of their reach. I wonder, sirs, if you have a published book of sign language for him to learn from?_

 _I am happy to pay any money owing. The book may be sent to M. Soigne care of Green Gables, Avonlea, Prince Edward Island._

 _I remain your servant,_

 _Dr Gilbert Blythe_

* * *

"Ahem, Matthew," Rachel looked down at the small boy sitting kicking his legs against the front of the sofa. He looked up at the stern Mrs Lynde curiously. "Yes, um, that is to say, um," she sighed. Marilla had as good as ordered her to apologise to the lad for invoking the name of the devil with regards to his behaviour and was standing now looking at her with crossed arms, a stern eye and a slight smirk. Rachel fancied she was positivity relishing the sight. Rachel took another sip of her coffee as she considered how to continue, she was unused to apologising to anyone, least of all a small child.

"Matthew," she restarted, "I must apologise for something you may have overheard me saying, though..." Marilla cleared her throat, "that is to say, I spoke out of turn the other day, which was wrong of me. I may have," she turned to Marilla who raised her eyebrows, "ah did," she corrected, "say that I thought the devil may be working through you. That was very wrong of me, of course and I apologise. You mustn't mind me, that's what I say," she finished in a rush, "will you ..." she gulped at the indignity, "will you forgive me?"

Matthew considered her for a moment, his head bent to the side, he took another bite of his cookie and chewed reflectively. With a glance at Marilla, who nodded, he replied slowly, "I guess so." Then he popped the rest of his cookie in his mouth and around it asked if he could be excused.

After he had left, Rachel leaned back against her cushions with a sigh, "I believe you enjoyed that, Marilla."

"Very much," agreed Marilla, "well done, I must congratulate you, I know it wasn't easy."

"I will have you know I would have got there in the end," Rachel retorted.

"Of course, you would have dear, you just needed a little encouragement," Marilla replied, thinking back to their argument of the week prior. Rachel raging that she made a point of never apologising, particularly to children, and Marilla telling her that their relationship would be considered over if she did not. Rachel had stormed out at that, but Marilla was not terribly surprised to find her back on her doorstep a few days later, having calmed down somewhat. Rachel had weighed the situation up and had come to the conclusion that their friendship was more important than her pride. She placated herself with the idea that this was the Christian thing to do.

Matthew trotted home after Mrs Lynde's perplexing apology. He made his way inside, washed his hands and sat down at the kitchen table. Millie was chopping potatoes and gave him the job of stringing the beans. There was something satisfying about helping his mother of an evening and they both found it a nice space in which to chat. "Where have you been?" Millie enquired.

"I went to Granny's an' Mrs Lynde said she was sorry."

"She what now?" In Millie's experience this was unprecedented.

"Mrs Lynde said she was sorry for upsetting me." Matthew explained.

"Goodness, I wonder what Daddy will say?"

"I wish I'd been a fly on the wall," was Davy's response over the dinner table that night as he grinned at Millie, "not once in my entire life has Mrs Lynde apologized to me, young man. You must have the gift."

* * *

"Be careful, Thara," Matthew called as he watched his younger cousin Sara place her milk on the very edge of the table. "It'll thfall." Matthew had lost both his front teeth and had a slight lisp as a result. He rather liked the sound he made now, though it made him sad. If Tommy had been around it would have been great fun, he reckoned.

The first time one of them had lost a tooth, Tommy had woken up and declared that his baby tooth was wobbly and Mathew had leant over in bed to feel it with his finger. Much to his astonishment he could make it move. It felt funny touching someone else's tooth, even his brothers' and they giggled together. Soon after he could feel his own tooth moving against his tongue and together, they played with them until their parents tired of the game and told them to be quiet. A few days later, Tommy's tooth fell out altogether. He reverently showed it to Mummy and she took it from him and held the tiny translucent tooth up to the light, like a little pearl. The first tooth lost in their young family. "Put it under your pillow tonight darling," she said as she kissed the top of his head, "and maybe the Tooth Fairy will take it and give you a penny." Of course that led to many involved questions about who the fairy was and how she would know and what she would do with it.

Now with no front teeth at all, Matthew could feel his gums and if he imagined hard maybe the very tip of his new tooth coming through. It was the first of many milestones he was to experience on his own; the next was fast approaching. It was their birthday in a few weeks and Matthew was feeling decidedly apprehensive.

* * *

 _Orchard Grove_  
 _Avonlea_  
 _28 February_

 _Dearest Anne,_

 _Please don't think I am speaking out of turn, but I took tea with Mrs Lynde the other day and talk turned, as it often does, to Marilla and John. We are worried about them. I don't know if Marilla told you, but a private investigator wrote asking for further details about Mrs Munch. Anne dearest, it seems she very badly disturbed poor John. He did not, could not, meet with the investigator, I believe Davy and Dora did so on his behalf. Even the mention of Mrs Munch has set John back some months. I honestly believe John would appreciate a visit from your good selves. I think Gilbert could lift his spirits._

 _Of course, I am not wholly unselfish in this regard as I would love to see my bosom friend too. It's been too long. I haven't seen you since poor wee Tommy's funeral, and naturally you were taken up with family affairs that week._

 _How I long to go for one of our old rambles, perhaps in the haunted forest, with you Anne dear, to remember old frights and laugh at our younger selves. To pretend, even for a few hours, that we are youngsters once again._

 _But I digress, if you and Gilbert could see your way to visiting even for a couple of days, I believe Marilla and John would greatly appreciate it._

 _I remain, your eternal bosom friend,_

 _Diana Wright_

* * *

Upon hearing a knock at the door, John opened it and was surprised and delighted to find Gilbert and Anne on the doorstep. "Surprise," they called, "bet you didn't expect to see us?"

Marilla had mentioned the state of Davy's hands now that the bandages had been removed in a letter to Anne. She admitted that she felt ill at ease whenever she saw the whorls of scarred flesh and wondered if there was any way they could make him more comfortable, not merely, she hastened to add, from a purely aesthetic point of view. This problem Gilbert could solve easily. He sent away for a special pair of gloves he had heard about and was pleased to deliver them to Davy. Gilbert deposited the mid-sized package into Davy's hands, watching him wince slightly. Davy was relieved to have got rid of the bandages of course, but his hands still ached, and he was reluctant to use them for much, the skin seemed so fragile now. "Here let me," offered Gilbert as they sat at the table. He opened the package and out tumbled two brown leather gloves, just the right size.

"Oh," Davy looked at them wonderingly, he picked one up and examined it closely.

"The outer layer is made from strong, yet supple leather," explained Gilbert, "but as you can see the interior is soft cotton, there's a layer of wool between the two. They should give your hands some support. Try them on," he finished.

Gingerly, Davy took up one of the gloves and fitted it gently over his right hand, and did the same with the second one. Holding up his be-gloved hands he wiggled his fingers tentatively. They felt snug and safe within their soft casing. "How do they feel?" Gilbert enquired.

"Wonderful, just wonderful," replied Davy with a glance at his brother in law, before he stared at his new hands once again.

"You'll still have to take it easy, nothing too strenuous, but they should help," explained Gilbert.

"Thank you, really they're marvellous, thank you," Davy pumped Gilbert's hands effusively, "I was so worried, I still couldn't trust myself to do anything, now... Now, I might be useful after all."

* * *

Marilla had popped out to visit Millie, and Mme Soigne had gone to town, leaving John at home alone. John heard the door open and close and called out. "Is that you Mar? You're back early?"

"No, it's not Marilla sweetheart, it's me, Irma."

* * *

* First Resolution of the Second International Congress on Education of the Deaf, Milan 1880


	62. Chapter 62 Arsenic and Old Lace

Thanks to **Elizasky** for an excellent suggestion.

* * *

 **Arsenic and Old Lace**

Irma was annoyed. Her latest employers, the Hendersons proved to be less robust than usual and despite her best efforts had succumbed after just one small dose. Irma stood in the doorway of the bedroom looking at them both lying in a pool of their own making; her grey vomit-smeared hair strewn out across the pillow and into his face. It was one thing to look after ill patients, that was always very satisfying; but it was less so when they were actually deceased. Irma wouldn't have been able to identify the difference even if anyone had been around to ask, but there it was. Rather than deal with the mess, she walked calmly out to her own room and sat on the bed to consider her next move.

Her thoughts shifted as they often did these days, to the Blythes over in Avonlea. Despite his change of heart at the end she always did have a soft spot for John Blythe. The memory of his handsome naked form sustained her through some dark nights, particularly in the asylum. Oh, the asylum, what a strange time that was. Those women, what were their names again? They were excellent sycophants, what a pity they were so stupid and more to the point, greedy. If not for that, they could still be gossiping and sniping as they had for years. Irma could hardly be blamed for their foolishness, and in fact, as it turned out she wasn't. She smiled broadly at her image in the glass; the authorities believed she had to be sane and had subsequently released her, hadn't they?

She had avoided Avonlea for some months now, but glancing in the direction of the master bedroom, Irma decided a change of pace was in order. There were a few items of interest in the house, the Hendersons weren't going to miss them now anyway, so she got up and collected the silver cutlery from the cupboard under the stairs and the spare money from the money jar in the kitchen, considering it back pay. She walked back into the bedroom where they lay still in the mess, the stench rising from the bed already. Mrs Henderson's pearl earrings lay in her glory box upon a fine lace ribbon, bequeathed to her Irma knew, by her mother. Mrs Henderson was very proud of that ribbon. Irma gathered them all up leaving the rest of the rubbish behind, it was mostly junk anyhow. She rummaged through the chest of drawers, taking the nicest underwear, it was clean as she had washed it all at some point or another. Then turning to the closet, she pulled out the wooden chest and had a leisurely explore. There were a few interesting items there and she took them. She worked calmly but efficiently, with barely a backward glance at her deceased employers.

Back in her own room, where it smelled nicer, ie less like death, Irma discarded her own dress and tried on Mrs Henderson's. Irma had always admired her green poplin and it looked very fine on Irma's slightly thinner torso, she had always felt Mrs Henderson looked rather poured into it. Yes, Irma turned around looking at her reflection in the glass stroking the material, it suited her better anyways.

Hastily packing her bag and taking an extra one for all the new stuff, Irma walked through the house. She stopped at the bed the couple lay in, contemplated them for a moment, she had little regard for these two, they were weak, too pathetic for her. Irma hated the feeble. Locking the door behind her, she threw away the key. No need to make the discovery too easy. Her money jingled pleasantly in her pockets as she walked into town in her lovely new dress. Once there she made her way to the stables and enquired about a lift to Avonlea.

The little house in the crease in the hills looked as homey as ever, with its green gables glinting in the sun. Irma resolved not to be taken in by its looks however, she had a job to do. First, she had to get the lay of the land. There was a nice nook in the barn where she could hide out for the night. She had come prepared and had a simple picnic for supper planned. Nibbling on a piece of bread purchased earlier that day she thought her plan through once again, making small adjustments as they occurred to her. She could see plain as day they had left a couple of water buckets by the back door, which would be perfect and probably more effective than her original plan. She watched as some woman, presumably the new housekeeper, bade the people inside farewell and strode off through the front gate, locking it firmly behind her before disappearing from view. While it would be ever so easy to confront the bitch and her darling John tonight, Irma had a plan, one she meant to carry out in full in the morning.

From her nest in the barn Irma watched as John walked out to the well with the two empty buckets clanging against his thighs. He placed one and then the other under the pump and she waited while he filled each one with good, clear, cold water. Once they were full, he carried both pails together and deposited them by the back door, ready for the next day's requirements – perfect. It was good to see that the ever-handsome John Blythe was still living at Green Gables with, Irma expected, his shrew of a wife. If it hadn't been for Marilla, perhaps Irma could have married John herself, didn't he turn to her and away from Marilla that time? She supposed he couldn't voice his love for her openly, with Marilla in the room, henpecked as he was. Irma sighed, not long now.

They did not keep late hours these two and soon after dinner the lights winked out around the house. Irma watched as a candle disappeared in the kitchen window and reappeared in the bedroom. A clear moonlit night meant that it was not too dark to see, so Irma rummaged around in her main bag, drawing out her favourite little bottle and crept to the back door. She hesitated then, there was always the chance it might go wrong, and this was a larger than normal amount of liquid to dilute the stuff, still she thought it through for a minute or two then unplugged the bottle and poured a measured amount in, then stopped and regarded it for a moment more before adding another dram for good measure.

Thus satisfied with her work, Irma made her way back out to the barn and settled down for the night. Earlier she had located a horse blanket and it was this she slept under, on top of a load of hay. It was a bit prickly but not wholly uncomfortable, and after all she had slept in worse places and it was only for the night. Tomorrow she would bed down in the softest bed in Green Gables next to the man of her dreams.

* * *

John woke early, glancing over at Marilla's slumbering form, he smiled at her in repose. The silhouette of her face glowed in the weak dawn light as her fine facial hairs caught the sunlight, she was beautiful. He tried closing his eyes for a moment, but it wasn't any use, he was wide awake now. Time to get up. Easing himself out of the warm bed, John eased his feet into his slippers and located his dressing gown slung over the back of the chair. Padding downstairs, he blew on the stove coals to get the fire restarted and piled on some more fuel. Tapping the kettle, he realised there was a little water left, enough to make a small, fresh pot of coffee, so he set the kettle back on the stove and taking his candle, went to find some coffee beans. Grinding the coffee was always a satisfying task. The sensation of the slight resistance of the beans against the mechanism causing the delicious aroma, so different to the taste of the coffee itself. He dumped a handful of grounds into a saucepan and poured the water over them to let it all steep for a few minutes.

Sitting with his small candle in the dark kitchen as it incrementally grew lighter with the dawn, sipping his coffee, he reflected on how very fortunate he was. They'd had some hard times lately, Tommy's death was particularly awful naturally but overall, they were very happy. Marrying Marilla had been the best decision of the last decade, that was for sure. He scratched his whiskers thinking that he had better shave before Marilla came downstairs.

Breakfast was a quick affair. Mme Soigne was going to town to pick up some groceries, and Marilla was off to see Millie and the grandchildren. Millie was planning on doing some baking and Marilla wanted to help, a day spent with her gorgeous grandson was an added incentive. Marilla just had a couple of sips of her coffee before she got dressed, figuring there would be plenty more on offer at Millie's during the day.

Mme Soigne drove via Davy's place and dropped Marilla off at the front gate. It was just a simple matter of a short walk from there to the front door, and it was easier than driving the horses around in a circle. Marilla made her way through Davy's front gate, making sure to secure it behind her as every farmer should. The snow was a bit slushy in spots, so avoiding those slippery spots, Marilla picked her way through on her way to the front door. A cool wind was blowing, and she was keen to get into the warm of the kitchen and greeting wee Artie, Matthew would be at school already.

* * *

Irma watched them leave dispassionately, they were as good as goners as far as she was concerned and of no further consideration. If she was to save her beloved, she had better move fast. Dusting off the hay from her hair and clothing, and wishing she had a glass to check her face, Irma made her way to the front door and let herself in, after all, it would be her house before the day was out. She heard John call out, "Is that you Mar? You're back early?" and announced herself,

"No, it's not Marilla sweetheart, it's me Irma."

* * *

Agathe had a few errands planned, if she had the chance thought afternoon tea at the café might be nice, usually she could rely upon bumping into some friends along the way and they might be persuaded to join her. Much as she enjoyed working for the Blythes, it was always nice to have a day in town to catch up with the gossip. Mrs Blythe was not much of a one for needless chatter. She chucked the reins to encourage the horse along the road but as she moved her arms, she felt a tremendous pain in her stomach and lurched to the side, nearly falling out of the seat as she did so. The horse sensing the change of pressure on his bit slowed down and leant into the reins which pulled easily through Agathe's hands. Instead of trotting, the horse slackened its pace and started grazing on the grass on the verge. Agathe lay in the footwell feeling as though her guts were about to come out through her mouth.

Jean Blanc had picked up the mail and was driving along the road that sunny morning. It looked as though the worst of a cold winter was behind them and he was looking forward to planting his crops as soon as it was warm enough. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly passed the motionless buggy on the far side of the road, but at the last moment he looked up and saw the horse idly cropping last year's grass as it poked through a snow drift and the prostrate woman lying on her side at the foot of the seat, "woah, woah, boy," he pulled on his reins to stop his horse.

"Madame," he called gently and turned the poor woman over. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and was surprised to find it was his mother's old friend, Agathe Soigne in a sorry state. "Mme Soigne, Madame?" he called, "are you unwell?" All he received in reply was a low groan.

* * *

It felt to Marilla as though a giant had taken a hold of her guts and twisted them excruciatingly. Suddenly the next step seemed impossible and when the next twist came, she sank to her knees. The hitherto simple fifty-yard walk to the front door was an impossible distance to navigate. She bent down in absolute agony in the snow. Marilla hoped someone would see her soon, she did not want to die there.

Looking out the kitchen window Millie spied an unfamiliar mound in the snow, it did not move. Turning to tell Artie to be good for a moment, she walked to the front door, quickly wrapping her shawl around her shoulders and putting her boots on. The mound, she soon found out, was Marilla, she bent down and touched her on the shoulder, Marilla collapsed sideways, "Marilla!" Millie was worried now, "Marilla?"

Marilla tried to speak, but it was more a case of little puffs of air escaping gritted teeth as another wave of pain bore down upon her. Millie straightened up and screamed out for Davy to come quickly. Davy heard her cries and tapped Victor on the shoulder gesticulating for him to follow. Both men ran out to Millie and the now prostrate Marilla, her knees up against her torso in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain. Davy picked Marilla up asking her where it hurt. Marilla could only moan in reply, her face pallid. "Quick, let's get her inside," Millie urged.

Artie looked up in surprise at his Papa carrying his Granny with Mama and Victor in pursuit. They put her in the spare bed and Millie shooed the men out. Marilla was writhing in agony on the bed, she had soiled herself. As quickly as she could Millie undressed her mother in law, wishing she had some assistance, but she could hardly get the men to help her with this task. It wouldn't be seemly for them to see Marilla in this state.

Once she had Marilla sorted, Millie called out for Davy, "We have to tell John, call him now, please."

"There's no answer!" he told his distressed wife, "shall I send Victor with a note to let him know Marilla's been taken ill?" When Millie nodded her agreement, he turned around and hastily scrawled out a note for Victor and told him to hurry. Once he had gone Davy placed another call, this time to the doctor, who promised to be along shortly.

Victor was pleased to help, it was obvious Mrs Blythe was very unwell. He jogged down the road clutching the note in his left hand. Turning the corner he ran into their old friend Jean Blanc driving a buggy with another horse tied behind the cart, Jean gesticulated wildly at him. Victor tried to tell him that he was on an important errand, but Jean showed him who he had in the cart with him. Maman! his mother was gravely ill. All thoughts of the Blythes left his mind as he witnessed his mother groaning and writhing in agony. He nodded up at Jean and climbed into the buggy for the ride home.

* * *

John started when Irma walked confidently into the kitchen and his immediate response was physical as well as mental, first of all his guts clenched and he felt a sudden need to defecate and in dismay he felt a sudden rush of faeces trickle down his trousers, the tell-tale stain informing them both of his response. Suddenly John felt about three years old, he whimpered "wh-wha-what a-ar-are y-yo-you do-in-ing he-re?"

"Oh John, there's nothing to worry about dear, Irma's come to look after you again," Irma stated, calmly striding over to caress his chest, "your Irma's here again," she murmured into his ear.

Roughly John pushed her away, nearly staggering as he did so, "no," he cried, "no, go away, get out!" Irma was shocked, she had spent so long imagining this moment that she had forgotten that the love she felt for him may not be initially reciprocated. Still there was time, yet. He would change his mind when he was ill, he'd done it before. John gasped, she had a certain hold upon him it was true. He'd been experiencing nightmares about this very scenario for months and now it had come true. He looked around wildly for a weapon to brandish with which to get rid of her, but nothing presented itself. For her part Irma was very calm, gently reminding him that she would look after him. she fully expected him to collapse at any moment. Her little drink was due to take hold upon him any minute now.

John dashed away up the stairs, he stumbled on the way up and in the end wound up crawling up the stairs on all fours, in a blind panic. He was had been a strong man, but she was hale and hearty, he was elderly and felt all of his years in her presence. Gaining his feet when he reached the top he ran to their old bedroom and shut the door, leaning against it and panting, his heart beating so loud he was sure she could hear it too. He wasn't sure what his next move could be. Just then the telephone rang out loud and clanging. John was startled, but determined not to move however much its strident call might summon him.

"Aren't you going to answer that? Irma called to him, mockingly. Slow footsteps up the stairs announced that Irma was following him, though as someone who knew the house, she remembered to avoid the creaky fourth step. She did not need to speak now. He knew she was coming, he listened to every step, step, step.

For her part, Irma was sure she would find John lying on the floor in agony, his guts churning, he should be incapacitated. Then it was just a matter of nursing him back to health. Marilla could be dead by now if there were any justice in this world, so John would be hers to care for, for ever more. It was supremely satisfying to think about.

John couldn't stand it, taking a deep breath he turned around and opened the bedroom door, determined not to let this harridan take control of the situation. He strode out to the head of the stairs and arrived just moments before she did.

Irma was momentarily lost in happy thoughts of the time to come, one hand hitching up her skirts as she made her way methodically up the stairs. She was genuinely surprised when she glanced up to the top and saw John standing there looking healthy. His pants were stained but otherwise he was as hale and hearty as any man his age. "Wh-at?" gasped Irma as she reached the landing, "how?" she staggered slightly, in stunned surprise at his demeanor. John just stood there, Irma swayed backwards and grabbed for the balustrade to steady herself … and missed.

John watched in horror as she tumbled down, down, down the stairs. Her descent simultaneously fast and slow. Bump, bump, bump went her body as it somersaulted down each step. As Irma's crumpled body came to a halt at the bottom, her neck connected with the bannister with a sickening crunch and she was still, her limbs splayed out at wicked angles. It had all taken but half a second, and John stood at the top looking down at her crumpled form lying lifelessly, her blue eyes still open wide, the port wine stain facing the bannister.

Suddenly a stranger appeared coming up the stairs, startling John out of his morbid thoughts, "who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?"

"Morning Mr Blythe, I'm Hiram McIlroy, I wrote you a few weeks ago, about," Hiram turned and looked down at Irma's lifeless corpse, "her. I see we don't have to worry anymore."

"She fell, I promise you," John panted.

"I saw."

"It's true, you must believe me, she lost her balance at the top here and missed the balustrade. I didn't push her." John was panicking now.

"It's all right, Mr Blythe, no need to panic, I saw her overbalance, I know you didn't push her."

John continued to look at Irma as he made his way down the stairs. In life she had been terrifying, but now lying there lifeless at the bottom of his stairs, she didn't seem so dreadful, in fact she was rather small. Why had he been so intimidated? John moved to the far side of the stairwell to avoid Irma's sprawled legs, "are we sure she's dead?" he asked Hiram.

"Pretty sure," Hiram bent down to feel her pulse to assuage John, but he knew the answer before he touched her cooling body.

John looked down at Hiram thinking hard, "I surprised her."

"Surprised her? How?"

"She expected I'd be incapacitated."

"Were you?" Hiram glanced at the stain on John's pants.

"At first, out of fear," John grimaced as he looked down at himself, "but she, she," John stopped as the realisation dawned upon him. Without a word he dashed out the door leaving Irma slumped staring at nothing at the bottom of the stairs. Hiram looked after John's disappearing back for a split second before he chased after him. Catching up to the older man he puffed "get in my buggy, it'll be faster. Where to?"

As the horse jogged along, John turned to Hiram. "Irma was genuinely shocked when I seemed so well. I think," he gulped in fear, "I think she expected me to be ill. I think she poisoned my wife."

* * *

John was out of the buggy before it came to a stop, staggering slightly as he gained his balance, calling out "Marilla! Marilla!" as he ran to the door. Hiram pulled the horse up and followed behind.

"She's in here," Davy explained as he met John at the door.

"Is she, is she?" The unspoken words in John's eyes said it all.

Davy placed his hand on John's shoulder in support, "she's not well John, we don't know what's wrong, but she's in terrible pain."

John looked in at her curled up in agony on the bed and muttered to Davy, "she's been poisoned. Irma turned up at our place after Marilla left," he walked into the bedroom and kneeled at the side of the bed, taking Marilla's hand in his.

As Davy closed the door upon John and Marilla he turned to his unexpected visitor, "Mr McIlroy, whatever are you doing here?" Davy was completely mystified.

"After our little chat, I've been joining the dots. I was afraid Irma might be up to some more mischief, so I came to warn Mr and Mrs Blythe. As it happens I was too late."

"What? What do you mean too late?"

"Mr Keith, were you to go to Green Gables right now, you would find Mrs Munch laying at the foot of the stairs, stone cold dead."

"She's dead? Did, did..." Davy couldn't finish the sentence, he couldn't believe John could kill a woman, even one as nasty as Mrs Munch.

"Yes she's dead, she fell down the stairs. Mr Blythe believes Irma's poisoned Marilla, she sure was shocked when Mr Blythe wasn't ill.

Davy sighed in relief, "and you witnessed it?"

"Yes, she overbalanced, your father in law didn't kill her. It was an accident, some might say a providential one."

"Thank goodness he had a witness then, thank you for coming." Davy shook Hiram's hand, "can I get you anything? I'm sure Millie has something in the kitchen. The two men walked out to the kitchen and Millie greeted Mr McIlroy and brought him some morning tea. They could hear Marilla groaning and John weeping in the next room. "So where is Mrs Munch now?" Davy enquired after he had sipped his tea.

"Still laying at the foot of the stairs."

"Goodness," Davy gasped.

"Mr Blythe was in rather a state, he rushed out as soon as he worked out what had happened," Hiram explained.

"Did you, by any chance, see anyone else on the way?" Davy asked, suddenly remembering Victor.

"No, no one else. In fact I don't believe we passed any traffic on the road at all."

"Where's Victor?" Davy turned to Millie in confusion, "where can he have got to?"

* * *

Davy and Mr McIlroy had summoned the constable and Doctor Mustard and met them at Green Gables where the doctor formally pronounced Irma's death. Hiram was able to describe the events to the constable and the incident was written up as an accident. Later Davy rode to the Soigne's house and found Victor there, nursing Mme Soigne, Davy was dismayed to find her so ill and promised to send for the doctor. Hiram took his leave, promising to be in touch shortly.

Any remorse John may have felt at Irma's death dissipated each time he felt Marilla's body shudder with another seizure. Even though she was essentially an empty vessel now, the arsenic having cleared her out, the spasms continued unabated. John cradled her in his lap and felt his heart lurching every time Marilla's body constricted. They lay like that for hours; Marilla periodically juddering in pain, John murmuring words of comfort.

* * *

"I always said that woman was bad news that's what." Rachel was sitting with Marilla as she lay in bed.

"Did you?" remarked Marilla drily as she coughed into her handkerchief. It was the first she'd heard of it.

"Yes. Don't you remember? I never liked her from the outset. I always thought there was something shifty about her."

"Well I never warmed to her myself, as you know," Marilla shifted uncomfortably. Rachel rose and helped her sit up, plumping up the scant feathers before she placed the pillows behind her and helped her lie back. Marilla smiled and thanked her, feeling momentarily better if guilty about the attention. Marilla was recovering slowly, Dr Mustard said she should take it easy for a few days. She had received a nearly lethal dose. "Just think Marilla," Rachel mused, "if you had've finished your cup of coffee that morning you might have died."

"Please don't," stated Marilla raising her palm, "remind me." She closed her eyes momentarily and sighed, "tell me something more cheerful, any new grand babies on the way?" Sensing she had crossed a line, Rachel tactfully changed tack, telling Marilla about the latest family news, her daughter in law had just sent her the happy news via letter that week.

* * *

"I don't know how you survived," Marilla mused later that night. They had carried her out to the buggy and given her a ride home, so that now she was comfortably in her own bed at Green Gables, John laying next to her, "I can't imagine going through that more than once."

"I don't think my dose was as large as yours, but I didn't get much of a choice in the matter, as you might recall," John said as he leant over and kissed her forehead.

"No, I suppose you didn't. Still no wonder you felt so low. I don't think I truly understood before. I certainly do now, my love."

"Personally, I wish you were still ignorant," John sighed by her side.

"I heartily agree with that sentiment. I know it's terribly sinful of me to say this, John," Marilla murmured guiltily, "but I'm pleased she's gone. At least she can't hurt us anymore."

Marilla snuggled into John's arms as they hugged, "no, we're safe now, my love," John murmured, as she drifted off to sleep.


	63. Chapter 63 Signs of Life

**Signs of Life**

Victor glanced up from his book as Agathe stirred in her sleep. Like Mme Blythe she had been afflicted by poisoning. It had been a rough night, with Victor tending to his very ill mother on the doctor's instructions.

Jean Blanc had been pleased to rescue Mme Soigne but a forgotten parcel lay in the tray of his buggy, picked up from the post office that very day and addressed to Victor himself. Only after they lay poor Agathe in her bed, did he remember. He placed it beside Victor as he tended to Agathe, and promised to send his own mother along to help. Naturally Victor did not understand, but he was relieved when Mme Blanc turned up in Agathe's room an hour later.

After Agathe had fallen into a fitful sleep, Victor noticed the parcel addressed to him. Wonderingly he opened it and was delighted to find a letter accompanying a book on sign language within. He could do no more than stroke it for some minutes, thinking of how this might change his life. He finally opened the tome and read the instructions; each sign represented a word, or letter of the alphabet. **I** was first, representing himself. It was engrossing, here was an outlet to the world, a way of making himself understood, a way to communicate. He read on, stopping to practice the signs as he went.

He realised that it would only work if the people he spoke to also understood the signs; he'd have to teach his mother at the very least. Still, he glanced up at her, she would be happy to learn. Communicating by written word was slow and cumbersome, Victor hoped that as they became more fluent, they could engage in more complex and interesting discussions. Putting aside those thoughts for a moment, he turned his attention back to the book, apparently some signs could be used for entire phrases as well, in a kind of shorthand.

By the time Agathe was conscious again, Victor had memorised half the book. Mme Blanc walked in with a bowl of broth, and mimicked sleeping to Victor, pointing him towards his bed. Poor lad, she thought, what a lonely existence. She helped Agathe up and sitting on the side of the bed herself, she announced, "time to get some food into you now Agathe, mon chere." As she ladled the soup in, they chatted. Agathe was oblivious as to what had stricken her, so Mme Blanc filled her in.

"But why would she want to poison me?" Agathe gasped when she was told.

"No reason, you were just there. The stuff was in the bucket."

"Mon dieu," Agathe crossed herself.

"I'll leave you to sleep again," Mme Blanc settled Agathe back down, Victor is getting some much-needed sleep himself. I'll just be out in the kitchen if you need anything." Mme Blanc patted Agathe's hand and left.

* * *

Marilla felt absolutely washed out or _peely wally_ as her mother would say, when she eventually recovered consciousness. She was as weak as a kitten and John had to do everything for her; he sat on the side of the bed feeding her some thin gruel. It had the double benefit of rehydration and nourishment but was easy on her much-abused digestion. After half a bowl that first time, she needed another nap. John wiped her face, kissed her gently, helped her settle down again and left her to it.

The next time she woke he was sitting in a chair by the bed. She noticed how haggard he looked, his cheeks unshaven, great circles under his eyes. She murmured "oh love." He was sound sleep, cramped up in the chair. Marilla watched him drowsily, feeling very loved. She drifted off again and was asleep again when he woke and shifted uncomfortably. He stood up to stretch his limbs and bent over to kiss Marilla's forehead. She stirred briefly at the touch, but he told her to go back to sleep.

Mustering all of her energy, she patted the bed, asking him to join her. He did not need much encouragement, not only was the chair uncomfortable, but sleeping next to Marilla was his very favourite pastime. Kicking off his shoes, then shucking off his clothes, he climbed in next to her, thinking as he did, that the next time she woke they'd bathe her. It did feel nice to have her in his arms, he'd missed her. Last time she had been so unwell, convulsing in his arms as the poison tracked through her system.

"What, are you saying I stink?" was her response to his unspoken suggestion as he appeared with a bowl of warm water and some soap and towels.

He nodded, "that's about the size of, Mar. Plus I think you'll feel much better for it." He was right as usual, the delicious sensation of the water washed away the sweat and general muckiness. Dora helped John change her sheets. It was unpleasant to feel completely helpless as they rolled her back and forth.

The doctor warned Marilla it would take a while to recover, but actually more than a month passed before she felt completely well. She chafed at the bit, eager to get her life back again, her body betraying her. Dr Mustard visited often, advising her to listen to it, rather than going by any timetable he had suggested. In truth he had seldom encountered a patient who had survived an arsenic attack. He chalked her slow recuperation up to experience.

One day John appeared with afternoon tea, "I think this is cordial, but it might be wine?" he commented, grinning as he handed her some red liquid in a glass.

"Will you ever let me live that down?"

"What would be the point in that?" he replied with a chuckle, as he handed her a piece of plum cake too.

Marilla sipped the drink tentatively, announcing, "it's cordial after all, I'll have you know."

"Hm," he signed in disappointment, "drat, I like you when you're a _bit_ tipsy, Mar."

She gave that lovely tinkly laugh that always made him feel warm down to his toes and held her arm out, nearly spilling the drink.

He sat on the edge of the bed and they clinked glasses and sipped, relishing the taste of the delicious nectar within, "mmm," Marilla murmured.

"Would you rather the wine?" John suggested, half getting to his feet.

"No, this is just right. Maybe tomorrow?" she hinted.

It took Marilla a few tries to get back on her feet. The doctor had warned her to take it easy but in her own infinite wisdom, that is stubbornness, she ignored his advice. The first time she barely managed to swing her legs down on the floor as she sat up, the resulting dizziness had her changing her mind pretty quickly. The next time she made it as far as the kitchen table for lunch. She felt quite well at first, sitting there in her dressing gown, her hair tied up in a plait down her back, but John had to escort her back to bed shortly after she sat down, as she started feeling rather woozy and swayed in her chair. "Let's get you back into bed Mar," John offered and even though she had been so keen to get out of it, she gratefully climbed back in, relishing its warm and safe embrace.

Anne came to visit partway through her recuperation, breezing into the house in a cloud of spring loveliness. Marilla had rather felt as though she were missing out on the improving weather, but Anne brought it into the room with her, like the dryad she had always been. Even better Anne also delivered a wheelchair, so she could take Marilla for long walks out and about in the sunshine. They would bundle her into the chair, wrap her up with shawls and blankets over her knees and, with John walking beside, take her on long rambles, Anne filling them in on all the Ingleside news.

Initially Marilla had felt ridiculous and somewhat embarrassed to even need the chair, but knowing how little stamina she had at present, she soon grew to appreciate it. It wasn't easy at first, she had to get used to sitting up, even that was exhausting initially. She nearly swooned the first time, before John popped her back against her familiar pillows. Incrementally they were able to get her to tolerate it for longer periods, so that a few days later, she was able to enjoy a trip down to Rachel's; startling her friend who welcomed them in gladly.

Anne only stayed a few days, but she made Marilla promise to come and visit them later in the year, "perhaps you might bring Matthew with you?" she suggested, just before she left, "I think it might do him and Shirley some good to be reunited." Marilla promised to mention it to Millie, but to be honest, she wasn't sure how the idea would be received.

* * *

Mme Soigne returned to work after a couple of weeks; being younger she bounced back more quickly than Marilla. She and Marilla had a heartfelt reunion, she sat on the bed and the two women sobbed in each other's arms at their shared misfortune and the relief at their joint survival. John told her to take it easy, the girls would take care of the strenuous work like laundry until she was fully recovered, so Mme Soigne worked shorter days and Victor borrowed a buggy to drive her to work and back home at the end of the day. John and Marilla felt desperately guilty that Mme Soigne was caught up in their woes. She was sanguine about the whole affair. It had been nasty, but it was hardly their fault. She would be forever in debt to the Blythe family for the kindness they had shown her and Victor.

Victor had memorised the book on sign language and in their spare time was teaching his mother too. Their communication had blossomed. She had always imagined Victor to be somewhat leaden in his responses, but with the benefit of sign language soon realised how expressive he was. A passerby might see them 'chatting' away completely silently, their fingers flying as they tried to make up for a lifetime's lack of conversation. Agathe soon learnt that Victor had an opinion on everything. While he had not been able to express himself before, he had been taking notice of everyone around them. Now it was as though a tap had been turned and all his hitherto unexpressed words came tumbling out. At times Agathe would put her hand up to stop him, as she struggled to comprehend what he was saying. One of the first signs she learnt was 'slowly' as she endeavoured to understand him.

It turned out that he had an opinion on all their neighbours, based mostly on their actions rather than their words, not surprisingly. He had noticed for instance how M. Morel beat his horse and how Mme Caron always looked so unhappy. Sometimes he would make Agathe roar with laughter at his comments.

* * *

Matthew sat crossed legged on the end of Marilla's bed hurriedly telling his grandmother all that had happened since he'd last seen her. They had decided to tell him that she had suffered from a bad case of stomach flu rather than scaring him with the truth. Artie was crawling around on the floor, enjoying pulling himself up on the bedclothes.

"An Granny, Victor…"

"M. Soigne," Marilla corrected him gently.

"Yeah, M. Soigne's been teaching me to sign."

"To sign, what do you mean?"

"Well since V... M. Soigne can't speak, he's learnt to talk with his hands. Uncle Gilbert sent him a book."

This was news to Marilla. "Hm, well say something to me then. Say hello," she requested curiously. Matthew waved to her. "Oh, that was silly, try something else," she smiled.

Matthew made a few short signals with his fingers, finishing up by pointing to his fingertips.

"And what did that mean?" she asked.

"I said my name is Matthew, names are slower, see."

After a short while Millie called to Matthew, "come now sweetie we have to let Granny rest, quick sticks."

"Aw Ma, but we only just got here." Marilla smiled gently at him, he was gorgeous, but his energy was exhausting.

"Yes, well Granny is tired now," Millie explained.

"You can come back anytime Matthew," Marilla reassured him.

"I don't understand Mummy. When I got sick it didn't take this long to recover," Matthew asked as he jogged beside her on their way home.

"No, I know," Millie responded, caressing the top of his head, then hitching Artie up in her arms, "but it takes older people longer. We have to be gentle with Granny, darling. You'll just have to be patient."

* * *

Anne read the headline, but it was the following line that had her choking in her toast.

 ** _Deceased was serial killer!_**

 _Further evidence has come to light about the nefarious acts of Mrs Irma Munch whose death was reported in this paper Tuesday last._

All over the island folks were following the sensational story of Irma's life. Several families who had known her victims smiled broadly. They had suspected she was up to no good but had no proof.

Susan heard Anne cough and poked her head in," everything all right Mrs Dr Dear?" Jem enthusiastically thumped Anne's back, until she told him to stop, "sorry little piece of toast went down the wrong way when I read this," Anne pointed to the paper.

* * *

Rachel came rushing up the lane waving the newspaper. She panted by the front door, and pointed out the offending article as she gained her breath.

 _Mr Hiram McIlroy, P.I. reports that he has been following Mrs Munch for some time._

 _During the past week, the minds of the inhabitants of Prince Edward Island have been thrown into a dreadful state of excitement from circumstances of a painful and shocking character, having been brought to light in which a well-known family at Carmody of the name of Henderson are the parties chiefly concerned._

 _About a fortnight ago the elderly couple were found deceased in their locked house. Mr F. Ticehurst, surgeon was called by the neighbours to examine the corpses. The poor couple having vomited a great quantity of green matter, which when analyzed was found to contain a certain portion of arsenic. Their housekeeper, one Irma Munch, was found to have disappeared and it is she who the police were most keen to interview however as we have recently learned she has subsequently met with a fatal accident._

 _Mrs Munch was described as a short but rather stout person, with something very repulsive in her appearance, indeed she had a large port-wine stain upon the left half of her face, particularly smooth tongued in her expressions and perfectly confident in her manner, according to the Henderson's neighbour Mrs Monroe._

 _It is Mr McIlroy's belief that Mrs Munch has been practising her evil craft up and down the island. Recently one couple, the Blythes and their housekeeper, Mme Soigne were fortunate to escape with their lives, a very rare event in Mr McIlroy's belief..._

"Oh, my Lord," Marilla leant against the doorframe and then into John's side as he joined her.

"You're famous, that's what!" exclaimed Rachel, excited to be so close to fame.

"Rachel you do have a strange way of looking at things," Marilla admonished her, "that's the last thing on my mind. If this is the price of fame, give me anonymity any day." Rachel humphed at that, as she followed them into the kitchen to read the article in more detail.

* * *

"Granny, Granny," called Matthew, Friday the dog hot at his heels, the two them skidded into Marilla's room, leaping onto the bed, "not the dog," ordered Millie in shock, but it was too late as Friday, in the way of all dogs, nosed under Marilla's wrist to get a pat. Somewhat charmed by its insolence, Marilla told Millie the dog could stay. "So, tell me, what's been happening to you, young man?" she remarked, as she stroked the dog, "you're positively buzzing."

Matthew looked at his grandmother quizzically.

"I mean you look excited," she explained, "tell me."

"Oh, it's just we got a new boy at school this week, and I like him, Granny, I really like him, and you know, he doesn't feel sorry for me. He didn't know," at this Matthew's face dropped a little as he whispered, "Tommy."

Marilla smiled at him gently, and reached out to rub his shoulder, causing the dog to whine in protest, Marilla looked down at him smiling and said, "what are complaining about? By rights you shouldn't even be up here." Friday nudged her arm with his nose as she looked back up at Matthew, "what's this new boy's name?"

"Harry Salt. He's bully, Granny. He's ever so funny. I told him I had a dog called Friday and he said, 'no kidding?' he says that a lot, Granny. I dunno why he thinks I'd be kidding anyway?" Marilla smiled and shrugged. "Anyway, he's really good fun, we're building a treehouse out in the woods and so far, we've got the walls up and…" the boy was off telling her all about their play. Marilla listened to him intently, enjoying his enthusiasm and new-found verve for life. It was wonderful that Matthew had a new friend, he needed someone his own age. She remembered how much fun his father had when he found Milty all those years ago, much to their collective delight.

As usual she and John chatted about it over the dinner table, Marilla deemed well enough now to get up for an hour or two a day, though she was still exhausted afterwards.

"Well I'm pleased," John remarked at the news.

"Oh, so am I. He needs friends his own age, although he's really getting on well with his signing. Mme Soigne told me Victor and he are always chatting nowadays.

She says Victor's much altered by this whole communication thing. She can hardly get a word in edgeways of an evening. The only problem is he can't eat and chat. He's had to learn to take a mouthful, set his fork down and talk some more, she said it was rather mess before he learnt to do that, his food would go flying around the table."

John smiled at the image, "we must tell Gilbert, I believe he set the whole thing in motion."

"Why don't you write him tomorrow, darling," she suggested as she yawned, "I'm tired, I need to get to bed."

* * *

 _Green Gables  
Avonlea  
20 March_

 _Dear Son,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well as it leaves us. You will be pleased to know that Marilla is on the mend, finally. It certainly was a nasty interlude, and one we are happy to put behind us. Marilla reports that as a weight loss regimen, arsenic is not recommended but I'm pretty sure you knew that already. In any case, we are doing all we can to put more fat on her bones as she could ill afford to lose weight even before she was poisoned._

 _In other news, I am happy to report that M. Soigne is getting on very well with his sign language. It was a magnificent idea to send away for that book, Gilbert. It has really opened the world up for the man. Mme Soigne comes to work of a morning with the funniest tales. Seems M. Soigne had been spying on their neighbours for years but had never shared his insights with her before. We roar with laughter at the news that Mme Babin looks like a fish or that M. Droit walks like a horse. It would be even funnier for you, if you had met these people, for in truth he has them down completely right. Mme Soigne tells us she scolds Victor even as she's laughing, but since there is no one else he can confide in, she figures his secrets are safe enough._

 _Having said that, young Matthew has taken a shine to M. Soigne and is even learning to sign himself. He bounces in some afternoons and tells us all he has learnt. I must say it is a very ingenious method of communication. I suppose the only drawback is that one cannot work and talk at the same time as the hands are required for work or communication and cannot do both simultaneously, but it is a minor issue._

 _I hope to see you soon, Gilbert. Perhaps we will come and visit in the Summer? I expect the children are growing up too fast, we don't want to miss out on all their exploits._

 _I remain, your loving father,_

 _John_


	64. Chapter 64 Sins of the Mother

For **Burcu**

 **Sins of the mother**

"No-ooo," sobbed Sara, rubbing her eyes in the way of all tired children from time immemorial, "na na na, not tirrr..." she slumped against her mother's chest, falling fast asleep between one breath and the next, her upper lip smooched against Dora's body. Dora hoisted the sleeping child up across her shoulder before she carried her to her cot and laid her down, covering her with a blanket and gently bestowing a kiss on the top of her head. "I always think it's so funny when they do that," she told a bemused Marilla when she returned to pick up the mop again, "if you told me it was time for a nap, I'd be in my bed like a shot. But they fight it so."

"You do it so naturally," Marilla commented.

"What? putting a child down for a nap?" Dora laughed in embarrassment, "it's not difficult."

"It's done with such love."

"Do you think so? Most of the time, I'm too exhausted to think about it much."

"Yes, you're a natural," Marilla wiped a tear from her eye.

Dora saw the action and stopped the mopping action, asking curiously "what is it?"

"Wha-t?" Marilla's voice betrayed her, "oh it's nothing, so silly. Ignore me."

Of course there was no way Dora could ignore her mother's tears, "no, what's the matter?"

"It's nothing, I'm being ridiculous, I'll make some tea." Marilla bustled away feeling ashamed that her emotions had gotten away from her.

She was pensive when she went home, John noticed but made no comment when she said she was tired after dinner, figuring she might still be recovering from her dose of poison even after all this time. It had hit her hard and she still had bad days now and again; if few and far between these days, he was happy to see. On this night she went to bed but not to sleep as thoughts kept whipping around her brain.

She was not improved after a visit to Millie the following week. Millie was kept busy chasing around her young family, Artie was as fast as any child and he scurried around on all fours from one amusement to the next. "For goodness sake Artie, settle down for a moment, would you. I can't think with you buzzing around." Marilla snapped. Artie started to cry at her tone and Millie scooped him up, looking at her askance, Marilla was usually so patient with the children. "I apologise," Marilla said to her and "I'm sorry, darling." She tried to kiss Artie but he ducked his head unsure of her intentions.

Marilla popped in at Rachel's, hoping for some advice, after all she had extensive experience with children. Rachel listened to Marilla's confession with interest before saying "you should apologise again Marilla, I remember when I apologised to young Matthew that time, the sense of relief was rather joyous. I was reminded of parable..." Marilla stopping listening, catching only the odd word here and there. She looked at her old friend dispassionately, no this wasn't working. Sometimes there was something about Rachel's earnest manner that had the opposite effect. Hearing her lecture on the benefits of apologies as if she had extensive experience was too much. If Marilla had foreseen her friend's response to her one-off apology she may almost have changed her mind about pressing her to do it. She was worried Rachel was going to get all holier than thou about the benefits of apologies, it was just too much. Standing up suddenly, Marilla made her excuses and walked out the door, leaving a very confused Rachel in her wake, opening and closing her mouth as she debated calling after her.

She was quiet that night. John sat down next to her, "penny for your thoughts my love?" Marilla edged away from him but he was already taking her ankle in his lap and undoing her laces. Marilla tensed imperceptibly then relaxed as he massaged her feet, feeling the gentle tickle as he massaged the arch of her foot. She did not smile which worried him, she was usually quite sensitive there. Marilla tolerated his advances for a few minutes before putting a stop to it, announcing "no, I'm off to bed, excuse me." John looked after her in surprise, she was usually quite game for some evening fun. After a few minutes he rose and started blowing out the lights. She was already in bed by the time he arrived, laying curled up facing away from him. Lying in bed next to her, John pulled her towards him. Without a word she rolled over and into his arms. He did not speak, did not press her, but just lay with her there as she sobbed, caressing her hair and murmuring words of love. He had no idea what was wrong, indeed Marilla could not have articulated it herself at that point, but she was unhappy and if all he could do was offer comfort, then that was what he would do.

"Right" he announced the next morning, "we're off to Ingleside."

"What? We just saw Anne, we don't need to go there now."

"You were ill last time, I think a good visit is in order. I'll make the arrangements and you need a day in bed."

Marilla looked at him curiously. Perhaps he was right, a stint at Anne's might help.

* * *

When she crossed the Ingleside threshold Marilla fell into Anne's outstretched arms and hugged her for the longest time. Anne hugged her back naturally, shocked when she felt Marilla's shoulders heave with sobs. The menfolk edged around the embracing women, pulling the curious children away. Leaving them to it when it became apparent they were in for the long haul.

In truth Marilla had no idea why she needed Anne so at that moment. Here was the woman who transformed her life; who led her out of the dark and into the light. Out of the small world she had created for herself and out into the wider one that lay beyond their boundaries. She hadn't even realised that she needed Anne as Anne had needed her until with hindsight it dawned upon her one day, years later.

"She might be good for us," the words her quiet but wise brother uttered when he wanted to swap her for an unknown boy rattled around in her brain. She would never get over the guilt she felt at her initial reaction. She had been so frustrated by the mistake. Such a seemingly simple request had backfired spectacularly - thank goodness. Marilla had been so fixated on the problem, help for Matthew, that she had forgotten there was a child's life that hung in the balance.

As she clung to Anne, all these memories swirled around, possibly brought to the surface after her recent brush with death. She had been so preoccupied with recovery when Anne last visited that these strong emotions hadn't surfaced, but they were there laying latent in her subconscious.

To Anne, Marilla felt slight, like a small wren. She had thought Marilla so statuesque when she first arrived at Green Gables all those years ago, but in time she had overtaken her mother in height and now in her eighties Marilla was shrinking so that Anne towered over her.

Eventually Anne broke away slightly; taking Marilla's hand in her own she led her out to the front porch. Dappled sunlight streamed through the trees as they sat side by side, a gentle downpour of ruby blossoms rained down around them. Anne was quiet, an indicator as nothing else of how she had matured. Where once she would have sought to fill the silence with chatter, now she recognised its value. Marilla sat by her side, her mind whirring in self doubt. She smoothed her skirts and left her hands in her lap. Anne reached over and gently took one hand, interweaving her fingers through Marilla's and clasping her spare hand over the top of them both. "I always loved this time of year," she said simply.

You came to us in spring."

"Mm hm," Anne nodded.

"Like a whirlwind you blew the cobwebs of the longest winter away."

Anne smiled at that, "I suppose I did."

"I wasn't much of a mother to you, I apologise," said Marilla softly, "I've been watching Millie and Dora bestow so much love upon their babies. I never kissed or hugged you when you were young. I'm sorry I was so hard on you."

Aha, here we come to it, Anne thought.

"Considering how I yearned for children, as it turns out I wasn't much of a mother. The good Lord knew what he was doing. I prayed for the opportunity, but I think He knew. He spared babies from my bitter heart."

There was a silence as Anne gathered her thoughts. Speaking quietly but firmly she said, "I've met some women who society classifies as mothers, they were anything but. Marilla there is more to being a mother than kissing small children. You gave me, and the twins, the space to be children. You fed us, clothed us, educated us. You and Matthew took me into your hearts without hesitation," here Marilla gave a little sob, "well with a slight hesitation on your part, perhaps, but it was short lived," said Anne with a smile. "For all your self doubt now, you provided me with a safe space. I never feared for anything again. You were the one who chose me, who took care of me against plans, against your neighbour's advice, against your own doubts, against your better judgement.* One thing I've learnt about being a mother myself is that we all feel inadequate to the task. I went into motherhood thinking I would be the perfect mother. I've made mistakes along the way, as everyone has. Sometimes we just have to jump and build our wings on the way down."

John walked up to them, he'd overhead the last few sentences, "judging by your skill as a grandmother, Mar, I'd expect you would have made a magnificent mother." Anne nodded in agreement. "yes you are wonderful with the grandchildren. They all adore you."

"I'm sorry to be so full of self-doubt. I don't know why? I promise I'm not looking for attention."

"Here's some afternoon tea," Susan announced her arrival as John leapt to her aid, opening the door and moving the side table across. Sensing the mood was rather tense, Susan deposited the tray and told them she had to get back to her dinner preparations.

"I was so out of my depth," Marilla said, her hands wrapped around the warm cup of tea, "I believed I had to provide you with a moral compass, I forgot you needed affection too."

"You did the best you could, which is all any of us can do. Just know I have no regrets, none at all. I wouldn't change a thing," Anne said to her comfortingly. "Between you and Matthew, you provided the most loving home." Anne leaned over and kissed her mother on her cheek.

* * *

Carmody was always busy on market day. She peered in through the smoky room, looking for just one seat. Her bags were heavy, the result of a good morning's shopping, but a cup of tea and a quick rest were needed before she set off for home again. The smoke cleared just sufficiently to reveal a lone spare seat, but the table was already occupied by a single gentleman. It smacked of impropriety, she supposed, but the room was busy, it was hardly possible to do anything wrong and it would be for just a moment. She wove her way through the traffic to the table and cleared her throat, "ahem, may I?" with a gesture at the spare chair.

The gentleman looked up, his long hair falling into his eyes, he brushed it out of the way with a practised gesture, "uh? oh yes, of course." he shifted his used coffee cup out of her way as she drew the chair out. Then placing her parcels on the floor she sat and perused the room momentarily. She didn't know what it was, but as she looked at him again, he looked vaguely familiar. Holding out her hand she said, "I suppose it would be better if we knew each other's names," she held out her right hand, "let me introduce myself, I'm Prudence Storer."

He wiped his hand on his lap and grasped hers back, "Hiram McIlroy, pleased to make your acquaintance."

* * *

* courtesy of Annewithagee


	65. Chapter 65 All of us are Better

**All Of Us Are Better When We're Loved.***

Around the breakfast table one morning, while Marilla and John were still in bed, Anne had a spark of inspiration. "Children," she announced, "Aunt Marilla has been a little bit sad lately. I think it would be nice if, over the course of the next few days just as natural as you please, you tell her the one thing you love about her the most. It doesn't have to be different to the others, though that would be nice, but just think of one thing for me please."

The children looked thoughtful at her proposal, and all started thinking about their favourite Aunt Marilla thing, her hugs, her baking…

That afternoon when they all returned home after school, they tumbled into the parlour where Marilla and John were dozing on the couch in the late afternoon sun. Susan emerged through the door with a tray laden with afternoon tea for everyone; monkey faces and cake, with milk for the children and tea for the adults. That lead as things often do, to conversations about favourite cakes and cookies.

The twins marched up to sit on either side of their grandmother, Nan had to insinuate herself between Marilla and John, making the most of the tiny gap between them, squishing down with one side of her bottom then the other; the sweet smell of spring wafted off their young bodies. "Aunt Marilla," started Di.

"We love your…," responded Nan.

"Plum puffs," they finished together as they hugged her from either side.

Oh girls, you do?" she replied with a tear in the corner of her eye, "goodness, what made you think of them all of a sudden?" Still she had always been proud of her puffs. The girls hugged her from either side for a while until Nan decided that her spot was too tight and she wriggled out and ran off to find her book. Sensing an opportunity, Rilla took Nan's place. She was slimmer so she fit in more easily. "Goodness, I seem to be flavour of the month today, what is it Rilla?" Marilla enquired.

Rilla licked her cake crumbs off her fingers and reached up to touch Marilla's cheek, "you have very comfy skin," she said reflectively.

Marilla laughed, "I do, do I?"

"Mm hm," replied Rilla, stroking her with a damp fingertip.

"That's a funny way of putting it," replied Marilla with a smile. "I've never thought of it that way."

John grinned next to her, "I enjoy it all right."

"Hush John!" Marilla exclaimed, as she batted him lightly.

Rilla looked at her grandpa, unaware of what was going on between them. After a quick kiss and a cuddle Rilla was off to play with her dolls. Grown-ups were silly.

"Aunt Marilla," enquired Jem from across the room, "want to play chess again?"

"Oh, I haven't played for ages, Jem. I'm all out of practice." She nodded and accepted his hand as she pushed herself out of the sofa. Together they walked over to the chessboard to set up the pieces, they rattled out of the box with a familiar sound. John settled back in the cushions relishing the sight. Marilla and Jem hunched over the chess board studying it intently. Jem let Marilla be white, and she had her hand hovering over the board as she deliberated her opening.

After dinner Shirley sat down at his grandparent's feet as they chatted. "Everyone seems to be complimenting me today, Shirley," Marilla said to him as she looked down.

"Uh huh," Shirley muttered as he sat on John's feet. His shoes were slippery and Shirley was enjoying using them as a short slide.

"You haven't got anything to say to Aunt Marilla have you?" John asked.

Shirley turned to look Marilla straight in the eye with his own dark brown eyes looking nearly black in the shadows, "I love you because you married my grandpa," he said matter of factly.

"Oh darling, that was a good decision wasn't it," she ruffled his dark hair.

Walter stood up suddenly, his arms akimbo. He took one look at them all, burst into tears and turned to rush out of the room. In shock they looked after him, "I'll go" said Anne resignedly.

"No, let me." Marilla offered.

Stairs.

She was no fan of stairs these days, but surely one flight wouldn't hurt. Walter's room was at the top of the landing.

"Walter?" she called softly, "Walter?"

A muffled sob gave his hiding spot away. Marilla wasn't about to get under the bed, she feared she'd never get up again if she tried. Instead she sat on it, the springs giving under her weight with a low squeak. Speaking softly, she addressed the hidden boy, "Walter, do you remember my wedding day?"

All she heard in return was another sob. "It was one of the most wonderful days of my life. You were there with all your brothers and sisters. The sun was shining, it was perfect, do you remember?" she made no move, but she felt the boy was listening now.

"But do you know what one of my very favourite parts of that faultless day was?" she paused, "it was when you and Jem visited me in my bedroom before the ceremony, and you lent me your precious marble. You must have been quite brave to do that. I bet it wasn't easy, it was so girly in there." She felt a scrambling underneath her as Walter emerged from under the bed, he stood in front of her, somewhat dusty, a strand of spider's web in his hair. She patted the bedcovers and he sat down next to her and leant into her side, whispering, "I 'member."

"Yes, it warmed my heart to have you lend that beautiful marble to me, Walter, I knew how precious it was to you, but you trusted me with it for the day and I clutched it all the way through the ceremony, a little talisman from my darling grandson," she inhaled his dusty boy scent, "it's a big commitment getting married, you know. I pray one day you'll find out for yourself, but I felt stronger with that little marble, as though you and the family were sending me your blessings. Such a little thing, I know, but so much love came with it.

Were you upset because everyone is telling me what they love about me and you thought all the good things were taken already, was that it?"

Walter nodded, "I love your plum puffs too, but the girls had already said that, and Jem plays chess with you, even Rilla had something, but I, I…"

"Always know that I love you Walter, I'll always love my little dark-haired grandson," Marilla gathered her arms around him, sneezing slightly at the dust; thinking she'd perhaps have a quiet word with Susan about the state of the floors. Standing up then, she offered her hand to Walter and they walked back downstairs together to join the family.

Later in bed John made the most of the children's words. "Let me feel that comfy skin of yours, sweetheart," he patted her all over.

Marilla giggled, "such an adorable thing to say." She lay back and let her husband caress her, enjoying his attentions.

* * *

Anne had whispered to Gilbert at dinner one night, so a little while later he packed up his work for the evening and taking up his lamp, joined the family in the parlour. The children looked up in surprise, they didn't usually get to enjoy his company after dinner. Gilbert stood by his favourite armchair looking down at the twins who were making the most of his usual absence, "ahem," he cleared his throat.

"Sorry Dad," Di said with a giggle.

"Do you sit here often?" Gilbert enquired.

"Uh huh," nodded Nan. Gilbert frowned, he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He glanced across at Anne who shrugged her shoulders, "you're never here anyway, Gil and the girls fit in the chair so snugly."

Once the girls had vacated the spot he sat down, relishing the warmth their small bodies had left behind. "How's M. Soigne getting on?" he asked Marilla with a smile, picking up a cup of coffee.

"Oh wonderfully," Marilla replied. "He's taught his mother to sign, and even young Matthew is learning. Mme Soigne says he's quite the chatterbox."

"That's rather sad," interjected Anne.

"How so?"

"All these years he's had so much to say and no way to express himself. I can't imagine how difficult that must be? Well I can I suppose. I had so much to say when I was young, but no one ever wanted to listen to me. It must have been far worse for him though."

* * *

Rachel missed Marilla when she was away. John too of course, but mostly her dear friend. Whilst never known to be a gossip, Marilla was good company with a wry turn of phrase and a good sense of humour. Hitherto known as a bit of a stick in the mud, her softer side had certainly been given leave subsequent to her marriage. Rachel enjoyed watching Marilla's warmer side emerge in public. It had always been there, naturally, but perhaps not as explicit as far as the rest of Avonlea were concerned.

Rachel's musings as she tacked her latest rug were interrupted by a disturbing sight caught out of the corner of her eye. In her shock she forgot to hold the rug, and it slipped heedlessly to the floor in a puddle of material; as she stood up and pulled the lace curtains out of the way. Was that? It couldn't be! Good Lord, it was! The teacher, Miss Storer was sitting in a buggy with an unknown gentleman! If you could use that word in this circumstance? She looked as happy as Larry as they chatted away, Rachel could see their lips moving.

Hussy!

Ordinarily Rachel would have rushed up the road to tell Marilla, but as Marilla was away at Anne's, Rachel had no choice but to put her good clothes on (even in the light of impending scandal, standards had to be kept) and rushed to town to share her intelligence.

Mrs Pye and Mrs Boulter were standing in the doorway of the mercantile. They looked up in surprise as Rachel bustled up to them, she looked like she was about to explode. Naturally the Pye and Boulter children were well out of school by now, but the women had grandchildren there. Their finely-honed noses for gossip were scandalised by what Rachel had to say. Hands flew to mouths as they gaped in stunned amazement. An unmarried woman of childbearing years; the woman tasked with upholding moral standards and imparting them to their grandchildren, seen gadding about with a strange man, unchaperoned.

The horror!

Word quickly spread through Avonlea and further afield. Having shared the news locally, Rachel wasted no time in penning a letter to Marilla. She had grandchildren at the school, she had a right to know.

* * *

Marilla and John had decided that it was time to return home. Marilla felt far happier than when she had arrived, the Ingleside family always had that effect upon her. She had the opportunity for a good break and a rest whilst she was there and of course it was always lovely to catch up with the children.

The day before their planned departure, two letters arrived from home. Susan brought the mail in on the tea tray and Marilla slit open the first one with Anne's letter opener, saying "I have missed Rachel, she is a dear to write…" John sat by absentmindedly stirring the sugar into his coffee, when he heard a gasp. He looked up, "what is it?"

"Oh, my Lord, Rachel says the teacher, Miss Storer has been acting without proprietary." John sat up, he was a bit of a sucker for gossip himself, sleepy Avonlea so seldom had any news worth sharing. He watched with growing interest as Marilla skimmed the letter. She sat back with a sigh and editorialised the situation to him, finishing with "well that won't do, we can't have her tainting our children."

"They're not our children," John reminded her.

"They're our grandchildren, that's the next best thing. Imagine what Matthew is learning from all this? Oh, look this next letter is from Millie. I wonder what she has to say on the matter?" Millie wrote that the gentleman in question was none other than Hiram McIlroy. "Mr McIlroy, how on earth did they get acquainted?" Marilla queried.

"I mean, he is a helpful chap," John replied.

"But hardly in Miss Storer's league, surely? Not that that's the point. They were unchaperoned, that's the real issue. It's just as well we are due home shortly. Millie will need our help," Marilla exclaimed.

* * *

Miss Storer was ignorant but perplexed when the parents of her students turned away from her when she walked by, muttered asides followed her where ever she went. She would whip around to see their faces and find they were staring blankly back at her, but Prudence was sure there was something amiss. The problem was, there was no one to ask. It was only a few days later when one of the bolder students, Jane Harmer, smirked as she slyly asked Prudence if she had a beau, that the pieces fell into place.

* * *

*The title is taken from my second favourite Canadian novel _No Great Mischief_ by Alistair MacLeod


	66. Chapter 66 Lucky Escape

She has finally finished her tale, but I would like to recommend another story over in the Anne With An E section of this site, _In the Woods When we First Met_ by **AnneWithAnEStory**. A warning, it is not light and fluffy, indeed it is quite dark and depressing in places, but it is an important story and one that you should read, and it is very well written.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and to all my readers. I hope you are enjoying this alternative look at Avonlea life. I've got some interesting ideas to explore in the next few chapters, but no more deaths in the foreseeable future, you will be pleased to know.

* * *

Prudence Storer had always had a taste for the exotic, a fact her mother had sighed over many a time, telling her to come back to earth. Her beau, Quentin Giles had initially appeared dashing. His macassared handlebar moustache twirled into intoxicating points, his lush eyebrows hinted at mysterious undertakings. His waist was perhaps a tiny bit thick, a product of his mother's fine cooking, but Prudence found it added to his looks rather than detracted.

In reality Quentin was a bore, a man of small intellect. For his part he believed that Prudence's flights of fancy could be tamed, all she needed was a good man to steady her. A healthy dose of religion and the good work of knuckling down to home making, would do her a power of good. This teaching lark was all very well for an unmarried girl, but obviously she would have to give it up once she married. Married women were not permitted to teach, and in case she would be too busy looking after him and their inevitable children. Quentin would look at her prattling on about her day, the tiresome exploits of her charges and imagine her naked white body sprawled out under him in their marital bed.

His father had taken him aside recently and explained the facts of life. "A woman lays below the man, Quentin," he'd said, "and accepts the man's seed. There are some progressives who believe a woman can enjoy this process, but it is neither necessary nor advised. The last thing you need is a wanton woman by your side. The main thing is that you will enjoy it, ahem, very much. It is also necessary that between you, you produce an heir, preferably male, though that's up to the Lord, of course. A man needs a steady woman by his side, not too intelligent, but prepared to support him in all his endeavours." Mr Giles clapped his son on the back heartily and offered him a cigar. Quentin absorbed all that his father advised; certainly, his mother seemed content with her lot, at least she never complained to him. She went about it her day with if not much cheer, at least serenity, as far as Quentin could make out.

Mr Giles believed that Prudence was perhaps a tad too spirited, but he was sure Quentin could iron out the rough patches as it were and in no time, she would become the perfect partner in Quentin's quest for a good life. However, he warned his son, "looks fade. A steady mind, a good work ethic, and childbearing hips count for much." He studied Prudence appraisingly, his son did have a good eye. He would watch her when she came to call, licking his lips in appreciation, yes, a very good eye indeed. If anything happened to Quentin, God forbid, he would not mind a bit of that. His eyes wandered slowly down her chest to her hips and beyond, he knew more of what lay underneath than his son could. He could picture her curves, the way her chest rose with each breath, her back running down to the curve of her buttocks.

Mrs Giles, for he never thought of her by her first name, had been dulled by life. He barely knew what attracted him to her in the first place. It was like being married to a mole, her mousy brown hair hung lankly down, and her eyes were always downcast. She cooked, cleaned and laundered for him as was a woman's lot, and then there were her duties in the marital bed. But he longed for someone young and fresh like Prudence Storer, a man could enjoy something like that.

Magdelana Giles hated her husband with a blind passion, but so long as she did what he wanted she could ignore him and pursue her own passions. While he was wittering away, she escaped as she wove stories of magical realism in her mind.

* * *

Prudence and Giles courted for a long time and Quentin was impatient to wed. Sometimes at work his mind would drift, he could picture his life to come; coming home from a day's work to find dinner on the table, and in time freshly scrubbed, well-mannered children waiting for him. Prudence would have his pipe stuffed and would sit by him as he told her about his day. The important matters he attended to and considerations about his clients, he was sure she would listen with rapt interest. Later he expected to enjoy her attentions in the marital bed. He could almost picture the curve of her lily-white hips that surely lay under her drawers. Ahem, didn't do to linger too long over that image. Quentin would shake himself like a dog and turn his attention back to work.

For her part, Prudence soon learned that Quentin was a total bore. He seldom had anything interesting to say and feigned interest in her life. Not that Prudence wished to teach forever, she knew its limitations. The children were perfectly easy to manage, it was their parents that proved troublesome. The board of directors decided in their infinite wisdom to designate Thursday afternoon visiting day. When the parents were welcome to visit and enquire about what their little darlings were up to. They always had opinions about the curriculum or her method of teaching. Prudence remembered her own education, long dreary afternoons spent reciting dull facts in unison. Instead she wished to involve her students and fire up a life-long love of learning. Sadly, their parents thought the old way, the way they had been taught, was preferable. It was extremely tiring to have to explain her methodology time and again.

She felt trapped, caught in a loveless relationship, in a job she began to despise. Her long life stretched out before her, like a train tunnel, with no hope of deviation. That day in the café she saw a glimpse of another track, the road less travelled as she stared at the disheveled man at the next table. Quentin droned on explaining why it made sense to get married. Sense! Where was the romance in sense? Prudence realised she had let her wild fancies lay by the roadside while she was wasting time with this windbag. The captivating man at the next table gathered his things and dashed out the door, Prudence looked at Quentin just as he finished his lecture with words of affection. Good God was the man proposing marriage in a café? What did she ever see in this pompous bore? The feeling of relief was palpable as she stood on the café's doorstep, cold wind whipping around her, driving away the sensation of Quentin's long cold fingers. She shuddered briefly, drew her coat around her and dashed off.

* * *

Since their initial meeting in the Carmody cafe, Hiram and Prudence struck up an interesting friendship. She found him fascinating, he always had an interesting tale to share, and together they would read the newspapers from near and even better, afar, as he took the London and American papers. They were full of deliciously interesting tales of grisly murders or what have you. Prudence found she adored the gossip about the Royal family far away in London. It was like an exotic fairy tale. For his part, Hiram enjoyed Prudence's sharp wit and love of words.

They thought their relationship was reasonably clandestine, they hardly ever spent any time in Avonlea. Much as she was tired of teaching, it provided a fair income, thus Prudence was not prepared to give it up just yet. Still when Jane Harmer asked her if she had a beau, Prudence understood that the gig was probably up.

* * *

 _Ingleside_  
 _15 April_

 _Dearest Marilla,_

 _What wonderful news about Dora, how excited you must all be. Another baby in the family is just what we all need to cheer us all up. Please send her my love and best wishes for a boring pregnancy. She will have her hands busy, but I am sure she is equal to the task._

 _I don't know what you said to Susan before you left but she has been giving the house a thorough going over. A proper spring cleaning as it were, she's even been under all the beds finding all sorts of lost treasures. She commenced it right after you left and asked me to tell you. Most mysterious she was. Certainly, she's never given me cause to complain, but she was quite determined to muck in this week._

 _I enclose a marble with love from Walter, he too was adamant that you have it now._

 _With all my love,  
your Anne._

* * *

"It's not right, that's what," Rachel and Marilla were discussing the Miss Storer situation. "She's setting a poor example to the children. I shall have to have a word with the Board of Governors."

Marilla nodded somewhat sadly, she had liked Miss Storer. She had been particularly helpful when Matthew went through a bad patch a few months earlier. Still this situation could barely be countenanced, "aye," she agreed.

Behind his newspaper John cleared his throat. "What's that John?" Rachel questioned.

John sighed, "nothing. Nothing at all, forget I'm here."

"No, if you've got something to contribute, spit it out," Marilla demanded.

John lowered his paper feeling it crumple against his lap. Sniffing he said, "I just recall our children spent a fair bit of time riding about in carriages, Marilla, unchaperoned. You didn't seem to mind then?"

"Are you implying that I'm being hypocritical?" Marilla retorted indignantly.

"I'd never imply anything," John replied mildly.

Marilla harrumphed at his words, "why do you have to be so dashed logical; it's infuriating."

Rachel for once stayed silent, she enjoyed their sparring. It was something she had rather missed since Thomas had passed. In any case Marilla was holding her own.

John raised his eyebrow, and disappeared behind his paper once again, rather feeling that he had won that round.

"Well, anyway," Marilla turned to Rachel, sipping her tea, believing that she would get support from that quarter.

"Anyway," Rachel rejoined.

* * *

"See look at this," Prudence said to Hiram, as they hunched over his notebook, the familiar tobacco aroma rising off the old leather-bound note book. She pointed at the notes about Mrs Guilfoyle née Emerson née McFadyen née Cooper née Davis. "I know her, her son Jimmy was in my class. Seems like a nice enough woman." Prudence stared at the notes. "I never knew she was married so many times though. I don't think she's married to Jimmy's father anymore."

"How did he die, do you know?"

"Jimmy was very young; I think it was a house fire. Are you saying it was suspicious? Say, Hiram do you keep notes on everyone?" she ruffled the pages. "Am I in here?"

"Not you my darling," he kissed her cheek and brushed a stray hair away from her eyes, pleased she had picked up something suspicious. "And not everyone, but if I start seeing patterns it piques my interest."

Prudence studied his notes about Mrs many-times-married, written down like that, it did look dubious.

* * *

Victor was enjoying his first train ride. It was his first trip away from home and he had had to come on his own, Agathe did not feel right leaving the Blythes for so long. In any case despite his trepidation, Victor felt he would be able to cope on his own. They had prepared a series of cards with written instructions upon them so he could get his message across. He was thirty years old now; surely he could navigate his way to the Montreal School for the Deaf?

A few weeks ago, he had received a very welcome invitation to attend some lectures on signing. He was looking forward to this new adventure and particularly immersing himself in deaf culture, hoping to find new inspiration for his life's work.

Now he watched the world flashing past, fascinated by the way the colours changed from one field to the next, a new painting forming in his mind. He could feel the vibrations of the train as it bounced over the tracks in a steady rhythm and wondered how much longer he had to go.


	67. Chapter 67 Stowaway

_Knock, knock, knock_ , knuckles rapped on the front door loudly. Startled out of her daydreams, Magdalena set her spoon down and went to answer it. Much to her delight, her favourite door-to-door salesman, Joseph, stood on her doorstep smiling shyly. "Joseph! How wonderful to see you. I'm dying to hear about your travels," Magdelana stepped aside to let him in. Joseph's wares sang their cheerful discordant song as he stepped across the threshold, his smile blossoming as she briefly touched his hand.

All manner of forgotten trinkets were strewn out across the table: silver love hearts from the Orient, lumps of ambergris from the Southern Ocean, ancient insects trapped in amber from the Middle East, pearl earrings from Paris and spread out on top of them Magdalena was locked in a lover's embrace with her exotic suitor. A soft tinkling could be heard over their moans as a ruby necklace fell to the ground, pushed off the table by the pair's ardent activities.

* * *

Agathe had bid her beloved son _bon voyage_ after she helped him settle on the train. She had pointed out the necessary facilities, the privy, the dining car and the emergency cord, praying that he would not need the latter, but recognising that he had better understand how to use it, just in case. When the guard had called out "all aboard," she had hastily hugged and kissed Victor farewell and scuttled off the train, to stand instead on the platform and wave farewell. The train was quickly lost in a cloud of steam and smoke, the familiar smell of soot rising up as it chugged away. Sadly, Agathe turned around and made her way back to work, her emotions a mix of pride and sadness. Marilla had a pot of tea ready when she appeared and patted her hand in commiseration.

As he felt the train set off, Victor smiled out the window at his mother, apprehensive certainly but excited to be off on a big adventure. The panorama flashed by; the differing hues crafting an endlessly fascinating mosaic of which Victor would never tire. The train travelled so quickly and while it was interesting, there were times he just wanted to jump out and take in each sight at leisure; he wanted to paint it all. He examined his hands, turning them around and clenching and releasing his fists. They had always given him so much joy, first of all holding the paint brush so that he could produce his art and now in letting him communicate.

Lost in thought, Victor did not take much notice of his surroundings until the ticket inspector tapped him on the shoulder, "tickets please" he called impatiently. This passenger had ignored him which seemed unusual and he was annoyed at having to go to extra efforts to gain his attention. Victor jumped slightly in shock and had to fumble for the right card to show the man, eventually locating it, 'Please excuse me, I cannot hear'.

Oh, he's deaf, thought the inspector, Mr Morrison, this should be interesting. He waited impatiently for a few minutes watching Victor locate and then hand over his ticket. Morrison examined Victor's ticket appraisingly, then nodded and handed it back to him. Victor heaved a sigh of relief. He should try to keep a better eye on his surroundings. He settled back down and glanced out the window again. He had no idea how much longer this trip would take, but he was in no hurry and was enjoying himself immensely.

Just then he felt yet another tap, but this time on his knee. Surprised, he looked up and saw a most unexpected and needless to say, unwelcome, sight; Matthew Keith was standing before him, as large as day.

"What? What are you doing here?" Victor signed.

"I've come to help you get to Montreal, Victor," Matthew signed back.

Non non non, this would not do. "Does your family know you're here?"

"No, I stowed away in the luggage car. I thought you would need help."

Abruptly Victor stood up and pulled the emergency cord. "What?" Matthew cried out, in his distress forgetting to sign. He staggered as the carriage slowed suddenly, eventually coming to an abrupt stop, the burning smell of the brakes wafted throughout the carriage. Passengers looked up in consternation; in shock at the car stopping and at Matthew's raised voice. A tumult broke out and Mr Morrison came running. "What's all this about, it's an offence to pull the emergency cord if it's not an emergency you know!" he shouted into the crowd. He turned to Victor in accusation, assuming the deaf imbecile was guilty, "did you do it? Did you pull this?" he shouted, pointing to the emergency cord. Victor caught the man's urgency, but not of course, his words. He fumbled for a piece of paper and a pen, but he was too slow and before he knew it two more guards had arrived and were manhandling him out of the carriage. Months of farm work had made Victor strong, his muscles bulged out of his shirt, but in his shock, he was no match for the two guards as they pinned his arms to his chest and roughly dragged him along the corridor.

Matthew jumped in their way, this was his fault and as little as he wanted to, he knew he had to save Victor. The guards brushed past him, nearly knocking him to his knees, but he recovered and rushed after them. Poor Victor was being pulled along, trying to plead his innocence, but his hands were being held and in any case the guards could not understand him.

"Stop!" screamed Matthew, tugging at one guard's jacket, "stop! It's my fault."

The men stopped at that and looked down at the distraught boy. "you've got one minute to explain yourself, boy," Mr Morrison said rudely.

Matthew sighed, his adventure was over before it got started, "it's my fault. I ran away, I thought I could help M. Soigne here."

"Oh, he's a frog-eater too is he?" replied another guard nastily, "even better," he snarled.

"What?" Matthew asked mystified by the mention of frog consumption, "anyway once he realised I was here, M. Soigne pulled the emergency cord because I knows I should be at home."

"How do you know what he says, all he does is flap his hands about? Is he a cretin? Is he dumb?" asked Mr Morrison, feeling the situation was getting out of control.

"He's deaf not stupid but, but it's true he can't speak," Matthew said earnestly, in defence of his friend.

"And where are you from, boy?" the guard asked curtly, now the train would be late, and everyone would be most vexed.

"I'm from Avonlea." Matthew replied, sulkily. He knew he'd be in terrible trouble now. All he wanted to do was stop Victor from getting into this sort of trouble in the first place and now he'd made it worse. He felt sick to his stomach.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Millie looked up at the clock. Matthew should have been home from school by now, she wondered why he was late. Dusting the flour off her hands and scratching her swollen belly, she waddled over to the door and opened it to find young Harry Salt and another boy standing on the doorstep. "Good afternoon boys," Millie said, "how can I help you? Matthew hasn't arrived home yet."

Now Harry was confused, "not home? But he never came to school, Mrs Keith? We just came by to see if he's all right. I thought he must be sick."

"Oh, my goodness," Millie staggered in the doorway, sinking to her knees.

"Mrs Keith, are you unwell?" Harry turned and ran towards the barn crying out for Davy.

With Victor gone Davy was busy in the barn, he heard the boys calling and looked up, in the distance he could see Millie on all fours in the doorway.

Assessing the situation quickly, he knelt down on the doorstep in front of the young boys, "Harry," he said breathlessly, "do you know the Blythe's place at Green Gables?" Harry nodded, "good, run there as fast as you can and tell them to come quickly."

* * *

Strict bed rest, the doctor had ordered, concerned that the baby would come too soon, a dangerous situation for mother and child. They had lifted her into her bed and now to stave off labour, she was not to move a muscle for at least the next month.

Later, Marilla held Millie's hand trying to placate her, "now, now darling, I'm sure he's somewhere safe." John had prepared a pot of tea and brought it in. Marilla turned to pour the tea once it had steeped and handed it to Millie. She took it absentmindedly but forgot to drink.

Matthew was located, a telegram was sent to the Bright River Railway Station and thence to Davy and Millie. One very sorry boy was delivered back home the next day in a downpour. When they told him the outcome of his little adventure he burst into tears, "I only wanted to help, Mummy. I didn't want to you to lose the baby because of me." Millie was sympathetic as she hugged him in her bed, but Davy had a face like thunder, matched by the weather as a crack of lightening lit up the gloomy landscape.

"Don't be too hard on him," Marilla cautioned, "as I recall you weren't particularly wonderful at thinking things through at his age, Davy."

Davy scowled at Marilla, "I never sent my mother into early labour, though did I?"

"The opportunity never arose, I don't think you can claim to be responsible for that, darling," Marilla replied. "Matthew acted out of love for Victor, I think we should be proud of him for that at least, even if his approach leaves something to be desired."

Matthew was put to bed quite firmly with just a quick goodnight from his distraught father. Friday was still damp after the rain that day, but that did not deter him. With a keen doggy sense, he knew his master was upset. When he leapt onto the bed the sweet musky smell of his damp fur rose off his back in waves. Inserting his nose under Matthew's wrist for a desultory pat, Friday lay next to him with a moan, his tail thumping against the covers.

Victor's journey was interrupted, but once Matthew had been taken off the train, and everyone settled down, the train took off again, chugging down the track. Mr Morrison came by to deliver an apology. Understanding that his words could not be heard, he had made his way to the guard van, pulled out a pen, inkwell and paper and drafted an apology to the deaf man. Sure, he had been guilty of pulling the cord, but it was apparent he had no choice. His dilemma was the sort of thing the cord had been installed for in the first place. Morrison was sure the boy would receive a whipping when he made it home, he rubbed his flank in commiseration.

* * *

Magdalena lay on her back in their bed while her husband Gyles took care of his own pleasure above, but her thoughts were far away; _her husband was laid out naked, pinned on baked earth, hot sun beat down so this time she had her broad chested man with ebony skin wielding a wide frilly white parasol to shield her from the heat_. _Magdalena sat on a chair nearby and watched Gyles in his futile struggle against his bonds._ _A second man brought her an icy cold drink to sip as she watched the insects creep imperceptibly closer_. It was not the first time Magdalena had relished this particular fantasy, but each time she embellished it slightly, to make it more enjoyable. _Slathered in honey, a trail of the sticky sweet fluid led from between Gyle's spread-eagled legs down to an ant's nest._ Gyles finished with a grunt and rolled off her, falling asleep immediately, but Magdalena dreamt on; far, far away in her happy place. _The ants had reached him now, she sipped the delicious nectar as her husband writhed and screamed in agony_. Ah heaven…


	68. Chapter 68 Gestating

**Gestating**

The sound of splashing water greeted Davy's ears as he came in from the barn. He popped his head in the doorway. "My apologies, Mr Keith, I fell behind, I was just about to wash her hair." Agathe dried her hands on a towel and turned to help Davy with his morning tea.

"No bother, Mme Soigne, I'll make it," Davy responded, "unless you'd prefer I wash your hair instead, Mil?" He smiled at her, the poor girl was so utterly bored after two weeks in bed, but at least the baby was still in the safest place. Initially Davy's wrath at Matthew knew no bounds, he was reminded every time he saw Millie motionless in bed. Millie told him to let it go, saying calmly, "we all make mistakes, Davy, you have to forgive him. He loves you so, it's making him wretched.

As they lay together in bed Davy caressed the round globe of Millie's stomach. He felt as if all the world lay within. They watched the baby move, as a foot or elbow caused her skin to bulge. Davy bent down to kiss her, whispering to his unborn child to stay put for just a while longer and singing a lullaby to calm it when Millie moaned at its sudden movements. Millie giggled as Davy tickled her; in some ways these were the nicest times of all, when it was just the two, or three if you counted the baby, in bed together.

* * *

Millie lay still as she had done for weeks now, thoroughly and utterly bored. Around the bedroom door she could see chores that needed doing, just tiny little things that would only take a moment, but no, for the sake of this baby, she had to stay put. On Doctor Mustard's orders she was not allowed to move a muscle out of the bed. Mme Soigne was bustling about in the kitchen singing an unfamiliar French song, if only it had been in English perhaps Millie could have hummed along. She tossed her head from side to side, all her books had been read, the newspaper picked over and over. Now there was just her and the growing infant within. She closed her eyes and dozed for a moment until she heard a small cough. Upon opening them fractionally she spied Mme Soigne standing next to the bed, a tray in her hands. Nodding she waited while Mme Soigne put the tray down on the side of the bed and helped her to sit up, plumping some pillows behind her back first. "Do you need anything, Mrs Keith? Do you need the pan?" Agathe asked her solicitously.

"No, I'm fine, just extremely bored. What time is it?"

"Just gone eleven, Mr Keith should be in for his tea soon and I believe Mrs Lynde is coming over to sit with you after lunch." Millie nodded as she took up her teacup. Rachel Lynde would have a good store of news to share, that would help make the afternoon pass quickly.

After lunch, with Davy's assistance, they turned her as they did several times a day to prevent bedsores. Now she lay on her side, pillows tucked around her to help her maintain her balance. A chair on the side facing her, for Mrs Lynde.

Rachel did have some juicy gossip as predicted. "I think we may have some shenanigans going on in Carmody," Rachel stated as she accepted a biscuit from Mme Soigne with a smile and a brief nod in thanks.

"Oh?" replied Millie, before she bit into her own biscuit, cupping the crumbs to prevent them falling into the bedclothes. Mme Soigne had just changed her sheets, and in any case, crumbs were gritty and uncomfortable. She look at Rachel in earnest, "you were saying?"

* * *

After his escapade Matthew was grounded, John offered to drive him home from school. John figured with Victor away Matthew could do with some company. Matthew found his grandfather a good and steady listener, not prone to histrionics like his father could be at times. Steel grey clouds warned of an impending storm as John drove Matthew home from his first day back, "I'm sorry Grandpa,'" he said after a moment.

"Hm?" replied John as he slapped the reins, he wanted to get home before the rain hit.

"I'm sorry I made Mummy sick."

John glanced over to the boy; Matthew looked back at him, "my teacher, Mr Ritchie said I'd been very foolish and made me sit by his desk all day."

"Did he?" remarked John equably, though his face was thunderous. He'd be having a word with Davy about that, it wasn't the teachers place. They'd had their misgivings about this new chap, he wasn't a patch on Miss Storer. Still the board had no choice, according to Rachel Lynde who knew these sorts of things, mid-year they had to take what they could get.

"Not to worry, Matthew. All will be well; Mummy just has to stay in bed for a few weeks. One day you'll look back and it will seem like a funny story." A few fat raindrops were falling now, making dark splats on the running board. Matthew shivered a little and John drew him closer, wrapping his coat around the boy in protection. They got home just as the storm was beginning to break and Matthew rushed inside while John turned the buggy round for a wet trip back to Green Gables.

* * *

 _Tingle tingle_ , was that the bell? _Tingle_ , ah oui, so it was. Agathe sighed, she was elbow deep in laundry suds at that particular moment, "I'll just be a moment, Mrs Keith," she called over her shoulder. She was happy to help out at this difficult time, but it was a big job, nursing Mrs Keith and keeping on top of the housework. Artie had been farmed out to his cousin's for the time being, which was a Godsend, surely, but there was still much to be done. _Tinkle_. Right, must be urgent. Wiping her arms with a towel, Agathe walked into the bedroom. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt you, Mme Soigne, but I'm bursting, that last cup of tea went right through me," Millie explained.

Initially, both women had felt embarrassed at having to complete this most personal of tasks, but quite quickly they became accustomed to each other. They had no choice anyway, as several times a day there was no one else to assist Millie. It was a choice of hanging on, letting go or letting Mme Soigne help. Millie far preferred the last option. Millie was bored though and attempted to draw Agathe into conversation. "any news, out there in the world?"

"Not really, no." Agathe felt sorry for Millie, but she really had to get on with the laundry, she needed to get in on the line as soon as possible. A knock at the door saved them both and Agathe went out to meet the unknown visitor.

Millie heard low tones but she couldn't place the voice, so she was surprised to see Matthew's old teacher standing in her doorway a moment later.

"Miss Storer, what a surprise." Millie was a bit annoyed, she didn't feel up to receiving visitors.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Mrs Keith, but I heard about your situation and I thought I'd pay a call, I'll leave if you prefer," Prudence reassured her.

"No, no, that's fine. Mme Soigne? If you'll just give me a moment, Miss Storer."

"Oh, certainly," Prudence backed out and waited back in the hallway while Mme Soigne helped Millie.

"It's ridiculous, Millie explained when Prudence was settled on a seat next to the bed, "but I'm not to move a muscle."

"That must be frustrating, Mrs Keith."

"It is but," Millie caressed her belly absentmindedly. "Hopefully it will be worth it."

"Of course," Prudence soothed. "Well I just popped by to tell you how regretful I was that I had to leave the school, I do miss teaching Matthew and the other children."

"Yes, I'm rather sorry too, you were so good to Matthew after," Millie paused. "After Tommy passed away."

"I honestly can't think of a worse thing to go through as a teacher, I can't imagine how awful it must be as a parent," Prudence said carefully.

"No, there's nothing to equal that pain."

"Which is why, I suppose..." Prudence glanced pointed at Millie's protruding belly.

"Yes indeed, I can't bear to lose another," Millie blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes at the thought.

"I'm sure," replied Prudence, worried. She hadn't meant to upset Mrs Keith further.

Once she had recovered, Millie asked, "and what have you been up to? Are you going to stay nearby?"

"Hiram, that is to say Mr McIlroy, has asked for my hand, Mrs Keith. I had a previous suitor and he proposed to me at one point, but I honestly couldn't imagine a life spent with him, he was a crashing bore. Funnily enough," Prudence thought back to that day, "funnily enough, the day Quentin proposed was the first day I ever saw Hiram."

There was a tale there, "do tell, if you will." Millie implored. "I'm dying for some new stories." Prudence adjusted her seat and with a smile launched in to the story of her failed love affair and her new, far more interesting one.

Davy walked in as Prudence was leaving. "I beg your pardon," Davy said absentmindedly making way for Prudence as she made her way out the door. He looked at her as she left and realised who she was.

"What was _she_ doing here?" he asked Millie later.

"She heard about my predicament and came to offer some company. It was very welcome too, I must say."

"I'm not sure I approve of you seeing women like that," Davy muttered darkly.

"When did you become such a prude, Davy? She came to offer her condolences at this," Millie waved at her body, "situation and she was very welcome. I have little enough to keep my mind busy as it is."

Davy nodded, "I'm sorry, it's just, oh," he rubbed his head, "I dunno I'm just so worried, is all."

"Hush my darling, all will be well, all will be well," Millie soothed him. "And it's not as though Miss Storer could lead me astray is it?"

Davy giggled, "no I suppose not. What did she have to say anyway?"

"Apparently she and Mr McIlroy are working on a case together. He's proposed to her."

"What's the case about," Davy asked, calmer now.

"Well…" Millie launched into the details Prudence had shared.

* * *

Davy stared down at his gorgeous daughter, her bright blue eyes staring back up at him, unblinkingly. He glanced across at the doctor, "and you say she's fine?"

"I'd say she's perfect, Mr Keith," Doctor Mustard assured him. "She has a good set of lungs on her and the requisite number of fingers and toes." The doctor turned to Millie, "and I dare say you'll be happy to get out of bed in a day or two, Mrs Keith?"

Millie looked up at him smiling, she was exhausted but the adrenalin pulsing around her system would prevent her from sleeping for a while yet, "mmm. Yes, getting up sounds marvelous."

"Well I'll send the midwife around tomorrow and I'll visit too. We must ease you back into it, Mrs Keith," he said with a fond smile. This case had worried him, and he was pleased to see a healthy mother and baby at the end of it.

* * *

"Ooh look children, a letter from Aunt Marilla, I wonder if there's any news?" Anne hustled all the children into the parlour, and they sat down around her expectantly.

 _Dearest Anne_

 _In the end it was all quite straightforward_. Anne laughed _, "_ how like Marilla, straight to the point, and trust a woman who hasn't given birth to refer to it as straightforward!" _, I had just served Millie some soup and crackers and went back to the kitchen to fetch my own bowl, to provide some company during lunch. When I was out of the room, I heard her choking on a cracker. She said afterwards it went down the wrong way, but that sudden movement caused her first contraction. The soup was the only casualty, though the blanket didn't fare too well either, if I'm being honest. "_ Oh dear, I can just imagine, can't you Nan?"

 _I rushed in to find her moaning on the damp bed, clutching her stomach. In any case we fetched the doctor and the midwife and the requisite number of hours later, Millie was delivered of a daughter they've called Constance Marilla._ Anne omitted the next sentence to spare Rilla's feelings but smiled inwardly _, I don't know what it is with you girls saddling daughters with my preposterous name but at least it's only her middle._ She resumed with: _Constance as I'm sure you'll remember, was my own mother. She would be delighted, not to mention much surprised, to have a great granddaughter named after her, I'm sure._

 _"_ Why would she be surprised, Mum?"

"What?" Anne looked down at Walter. "Oh, it's just because Aunt Marilla never had any children of her own. We consider her your grandmother but she's not really." She turned her eyes back to the letter, leaving Walter to mull over that information.

 _I returned to the bedroom to see Millie lying back against the pillows in a shaft of golden morning light as it slanted into the room, the baby in her arms. She looked quite angelic._ "That's your influence, Anne," remarked Gilbert who had returned home and was leaning in the doorway listening. Anne nodded but continued _, Indeed, Mme Soigne blessed herself when she caught sight of her, something Rachel never can come to terms with. Connie, as she's already been dubbed, is the apple of Davy's eye as you can imagine. She has no hair and bright blue eyes. She is small, but utterly perfect._

 _Matthew burst in as soon as he was allowed and sobbed with relief on his mother's lap. He has been feeling terribly guilty that his actions caused Millie's confinement. It just goes to show though how precarious her situation was. If a simple cracker going down the wrong way could bring on labour, the doctor was right in ordering her to stay still. She'll be weak as a kitten and we have to look after her for a while yet as she gets her strength back, but I'm sure it's nothing we can't manage between us._ "Yes, they'll be busy, is there anything we can do to help, do you think, Gil?" Anne looked up at him. Gilbert shook his head, "it'll only be for a few days and then they'll be back to normal. I'm sure they can manage."

 _Mme Soigne informs us Victor is writing to tell her how much he is enjoying Montreal. After his misadventure getting there, he reports that the train guard became quite friendly and escorted him to the school, which he was most appreciative of, as it was not easy to find._

 _In any case now he is happily ensconced and enjoying his lessons and I believe the company. I am pleased for Victor he has endured a lonely life especially as it seems otherwise, he would have been quite gregarious. I can't imagine you having your wings clipped by the absence of language, Anne dearest. We are missing him of course. Ralph is helping with the heavy farm work, but Davy finds he can manage most of it himself; those gloves Gilbert gave him have been a godsend._ Anne smiled up at Gilbert who nodded back.

 _Davy's hands continue to heal, his skin is getting tougher. Millie has to apply liniment at night to keep them supple. Davy told me he doesn't mind the look of them, the whorled angry scars remind him of Tommy. I didn't have any response to that, what could I say? I just gave him a long hug, as tears streaked down our cheeks._ Anne wiped tears from her own cheeks at that, thinking of her own loss, Jem patted her on the knee as Gilbert strode over to give her a hug.

"Well, Constance Marilla, what a gorgeous name," Anne remarked glancing up at them all. Everyone apart from Walter smiled back, he was still concentrating on her remark about Marilla's relationship to them all, "and a nice middle name, don't you agree, Rilla?"

* * *

Meticulously Joseph shaved his cheeks examining his reflection in the glass; thinking as he did so that he couldn't work out why white folks preferred their palid pink creamy skin to his own lustrous ebony hue. Strange how the colour of your skin could be a defining feature, as if that were important? Which is not to say he wanted to be 'white', he far preferred his jet-black coloring. His goatee washed and his cheeks smooth, he splashed some cologne across his face wincing at the sting. Next, he ran a comb through his hair and his moustache. He felt a little uneven, so he put his hand down his pants and adjusted his testicles and jiggled his hips. Better. After one last wink in the mirror, he put his coat on and slung his pack across his shoulders before he walked out of the room.

Joseph was looking forward to his day, he had a visit to one of his favourite clients planned. He didn't provide this service to all of his clientele, but some women were so lonely, so sad. He'd be invited into the house and well, what was a man to do? They were all adults and he'd never force himself on anyone. Magdalena Giles was one such client, he had spied her husband from afar and he looked like a stiff, certainly Magdalena despised him. Joseph longed to free her from her bonds and run away with this most magnificent of women. She had an intelligent but wasted mind. How terrible it would be to be trapped in a loveless marriage. They barely bothered with the sham of poring over his trinkets these days. He would appear on her doorstep, she would pull him in by his tie and the rest would take care of itself.


	69. Chapter 69 Bed of Roses

For **kslchen** who thinks my characters spend too much time in bed. ;P

 **Bed of Roses**

* * *

Gathering her skirts, Anne walked up the stairs as quietly as possible, the children were all asleep, but she did like to give them all a kiss before she went to bed herself. There was something so innocent about a sleeping child. Bending down to kiss Walter goodnight, she heard a small sob and noticed with shock that he was not yet asleep, "what's the matter darling? Why are you still awake?"

Walter looked up at her with his big, dark eyes, "sorry Mum. Why do we call Aunt Marilla aunt not Grandma?"

Anne climbed into the bed next to him, her long limbs finding new cooler depths. Instinctively he laid his warm feet over her legs and snuggled into her side, "well" she began. "You know how I was orphaned at a very early age, yes? I've told you that before. You were named after my father and Rilla was named after my mother, remember?"

"Uh huh," Walter nodded next to her. He'd never really given it much thought.

"I had a very hard time when I was young. Unloved, I was put to work. I didn't have a childhood like you children have enjoyed."

"Oh," said Walter sadly. He sort of knew this, but had never had it explained to him so matter of factly before.

"One day something miraculous happened, an older brother and sister sent for a boy to help out on their farm. I was living in the asylum by then." Walter listened he couldn't see how this old couple sending for a boy could be miraculous. "But there was a mix-up you see," Anne continued. "Instead of a boy, a girl arrived."

"You," whispered Walter. "You were the girl."

"Yes, that's right, at the very beginning they didn't think they wanted to keep me. The sister wanted to send me back. I can honestly say that was the worst day of my life to that point."

"Who was the sister?"

Anne looked down at him, a bit shocked by his question, "the sister was your Aunt Marilla, Walter. She and her brother never married, never had children of their own."

"Oh," he said wonderingly.

"Yes, I know it's hard to believe now, but she expected a boy and I came by mistake. I couldn't help out on the farm and she was worried about Uncle Matthew."

"Is he who our Matthew, you know my cousin Matthew is named after?"

"Yes darling, that's right. Anyway, I stayed, and it took a while, but I think we can safely say she fell in love with me." Walter thought about that for a bit and nodded, he was pretty sure his Aunt Marilla loved his mother. "We don't call her Grandma because technically speaking she isn't your grandmother, see. I was never allowed to call her Aunt Marilla or Mother, I just called her plain Marilla, so when Jem was born and started needing a name for her, between us we settled on Aunt Marilla. She's your honorary aunt. So that's why her mother, Constance would be surprised to have a grandchild named after her. Does that make sense now?"

"Yes Mum," said Walter as Anne kissed the top of his head, "but Mum?"

"Mm?" Anne thought she'd have answered all his questions by now.

"What if they had sent you back? What if you never met Dad?"

"Ah," that question. "Well if that had happened, I think your Dad and I would have found each other anyway, we were meant to be."

"But if you hadn't, what would have happened to all of us?"

"God would have sorted it out, Walter. It would have been alright. There is no way we couldn't all be living here, now. You and the others traipsing around the Rainbow Valley, Dad doctoring, me and Susan looking after you all. It was God's plan don't you see." She kissed the top of his head and gave him a quick cuddle, "now off to sleep with you, darling." Turning around in the doorway Anne gave him a smile and he sleepily smiled back, feeling safe in his world.

* * *

"Here you go," John reached across the bed with two cups of steaming hot tea. Marilla took them both by the handles and waited while he got back into bed. It was warm under the covers, outside less so.

"Mind out, your toes are freezing," Marilla said jumping at his touch down under the bedclothes.

"It's only the tea that's saving you from a full onslaught, Mrs Blythe," John teased.

"I think it might be saving you instead, Mr Blythe," Marilla warned back with a grin. She sipped the hot tea tentatively, enjoying the way it snaked down, warming her. She didn't think she'd ever get fully used to having hot tea served to her in bed, it was an unexpected but certainly welcome, benefit of marriage. She wriggled against her pillows and glanced across the steaming mug, sighing, "thank you."

"My pleasure, my love."

"You do spoil me," she said contentedly.

"It's my favourite thing to do, he watched as Marilla's eyes went blank as a memory overcame her. Eventually she came back to him with a small shudder. "What was it?"

"Oh," she replied with a laugh, "I was just thinking of all those chilly mornings when Matthew and I had to get up to milk the cows. I liked milking well enough, but not when it was freezing outside. That was a chore, but of course we couldn't ignore them, the cows needed milking, they'd be bellowing from the barn if you were even a few minutes late." John nodded, he remembered.

"Not known for their patience, cows," he replied as he sipped his own tea, slightly burning his tongue in the process.

* * *

Sitting in a similar warm bed over in Carmody newly-weds Hiram and Prudence McIlroy kissed and cuddled, enjoying the silky sensation of being in close proximity. They had enjoyed a few days honeymoon spent mostly in bed. Now they pored over their collective notes strewn out across the messy bedcovers dodging the breakfast tray, with its sticky smudges of marmalade, toast crumbs and dregs of cold tea. They kept meaning to move it, but then one would make a new connection and the tray would be forgotten in the flurry to document it.

Finally, after Prudence kicked a teacup over and the tea dribbled out onto the tray, she decided enough was enough. She threw back the covers, shivering in the cold, and carried the tray out to the kitchen for its safety as much as for the sake of the bedclothes. So engrossed in his notes was he, Hiram barely noticed her departure and was slightly shocked when he looked up and noticed her standing in the doorway naked and shivering. He stoped then and stared at her, his venetian goddess. Suddenly all thoughts of the case were gone from his mind as she leapt on the bed. With a sudden movement, the papers fluttered to the ground as the two lovers embraced in a fit of passion.

* * *

Millie didn't think she'd ever want to spend a second more in bed than she had to; but today, lying back with her little family sitting or lying by her side, it didn't seem so terrible. Matthew was sitting cross-legged at the foot snug in his green tartan dressing gown, leaning down to pat Friday who had been pushed to the floor much to his disapproval; Artie fit snugly between his parents, Connie lay in her arms, enjoying her breakfast. Matthew was telling them all a story about his afternoon's exploits of the day prior with Harry Salt. When Connie had finished, Millie put her up to her shoulder to wind her. Artie tugged at her asking for a hold. Smiling at him she learnt over and handed Connie over to Artie who held his arms out to hold his baby sister, making sure to support her head. Artie looked up proudly and said "Nee nee."

"That's right sweetie, Connie, can you say Con-nie?"

"Nee nee," said Artie definitively.

"That'll do, little man," Davy said with a smile at them both. He plucked the baby out of Artie's arms sensing that he was getting bored already. Two-year-olds were not known for their attention span. He pulled his knees up and cradled Connie between his thighs, playing with her arms, smiling broadly in her direction.

"Remember how busy we were when the twins were born?" Millie said as she fondly watched them both.

"Mm," Davy murmured. That was dangerous territory. He glanced over at her, tears welling in her eyes, he reached out and they clasped hands in recognition of each other's pain and looked across at Matthew; fortunately he was busy with the dog.

* * *

On Sunday the minister was preaching about forgiveness and the prodigal son. Rachel smiled as she saw John whisper in Marilla's ear and Marilla in turn, rested her head on his shoulder. Those two lovebirds, she thought, they belonged together.

Later she enquired of Marilla what he'd said, "oh it was nothing, he just said he was my prodigal husband."

"Oh, you two," Rachel lightly batted Marilla's arm.

"Well you asked." Marilla responded with a fond smile, "Rachel dear are you feeling quite well? You look flushed."

"Now that you mention it, I feel rather achy and tired and," she pulled her shawl around her, "chilled."

"Let us escort you home then," after Marilla murmured to John he took Rachel's arm and helped her into the buggy. Rachel's situation deteriorated as they drove home. Her face now looked flushed and she was soon shucking off her wraps. "Hot, so hot," she muttered.

"I don't like the look of this," Marilla said to John. "I think once we've got her home, you should call the doctor." John nodded and slapped the reins, calling "giddy-up" to the horse.

"Come now dear, let's get you into your nightgown," Marilla lifted the gown over Rachel's head and smoothed it down, before turning back the bedcovers and helping her in. Rachel lay back in the bed with a sigh and closed her eyes. She felt achy, alternately hot and cold and her head ached. Marilla bent over to feel her forehead with the back of her hand. Rachel was burning up. The doctor appeared shortly after and examined her, "it's summer 'flu, I've got a few cases already. She'll need nursing. I don't want you doing it, Mrs Blythe. Might be best to get one of her daughters over to take care of her."

Rachel's eldest daughter Eliza welcomed Marilla in the next day, "I think she's asleep, you can take a look if you like."

Marilla peeked around the doorway Rachel looked up at her briefly before she closed her eyes again. "I do apologise," Eliza said.

"Don't be silly, I know myself how exhausting visitors are when you're under the weather. I'll just leave this casserole here for you. I'll be down tomorrow to see how you both are."

"You've always been so good to us, Aunt Marilla. I'll never forget how you took us all in when Katherine was ill."

"Goodness, that was years ago."

"I know, but Mama really appreciated your help at that difficult time, as I do now. Just knowing you're up the lane and that I'm not all alone with her is tremendously comforting," Eliza explained.

"I'll take my leave now but I'll return tomorrow. Don't hesitate to call in if you need anything, even if it's just a cup of tea." They could hear Rachel coughing wetly, Eliza briefly hugged Marilla in farewell before bustling back in to tend to her.

"How is she?" John greeted Marilla from the barn door as she walked by. She strode over to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, "not well. Looks like a nasty bout of the 'flu."

"Oh dear, that doesn't sound good, is Eliza coping?" John asked.

"Yes, I think so. I'll keep an eye on her too. It can be a lonely time, especially when you're far from your own home and neighbours."

* * *

"Let's just go through it again," Detective Miller said patiently. Mrs McIlroy's influence was evident in the way the couple went through the convoluted story about Mrs Guilfoyle and her many husbands. Detective Miller had endured many meetings with Mr McIlroy in the past, but never had his information been presented in such an orderly manner. "So, Mrs Guilfoyle has been married several times," he said, taking notes.

"Five in twenty years," Prudence explained.

"Yes, that is unusual. The question is, what's her motive?"


	70. Chapter 70 Infatuation

With thanks to **OriginalMcFishie**

 **Infatuation**

* * *

Charlottetown Gazette  
25 August

A fire broke out at the house of Mr Guilfoyle in Bright River last night, before the brigades could master the flames, the house was engulfed. The family managed to evacuate, but not before Mr Guilfoyle sustained serious burns to forty per cent of his body.

* * *

Charlottetown Gazette  
5 September

Grim Death, the universal reaper of all that lives, paid a visit last Monday night at 11.30 to the home of Mr M Guilfoyle, Bright River and called hence the head of the home. Deceased, who was close on 43 years of age, has been ailing for some ten days, and despite the unremitting care of his family and a visit from Dr Mustard, the end came as a relief to the sufferer, the cause of death being burns after a house fire. Mr Guilfoyle leaves a wife and three step children to mourn their loss.

* * *

Harvest was looming, the days were long and balmy. One bright golden day slid into the next, causing the farmers to scratch their heads and mutter about rainfall as they stood huddled in groups outside the mercantile.

Marilla paid a call to Millie. They took their tea in her neat parlour watching Artie toddling about and Connie lying in her basket, her big grey eyes taking in everything.

"Millie dear," Marilla asked. "How are Davy and Matthew getting on?"

"Why do you ask?" Millie asked, curious.

"It's just Davy seems so angry still. I feel Matthew is almost frightened of his father sometimes," Marilla looked at Millie with concern in her eyes. "I worry is all. Davy didn't have male role models growing up. I wonder...' she trailed off. "Oh, I don't know. He was such hard work when he came here. I was at my wit's end. But now looking at him I think perhaps growing up with a passel of women may have been to his detriment."

Millie stared back at Marilla, "I've tried talking to him, poor Matthew, he's just a child. It's as though Davy forgets sometimes."

"Maybe I'll go and have a chat with Davy then, see how he's faring, I'll be back in a little while." With that Marilla got to her feet and walked out the door.

Marilla spied Davy out in the field, weeding. "Davy!" she called out. "Davy, can we talk?"

No words were more alarming to a man, the only way Davy could have been more upset was if it were Millie doing the asking, but Marilla was bad enough. His initial reaction was to look momentarily for some place to hide, then remembered he was no longer a six-year-old boy. Resignedly, he called back to Marilla, "coming."

Picking his way through the potato crop, taking care not to stomp on his precious plants, he approached her, "yes?" he asked.

"You looked like a small boy when I called out, darling. There's nothing the matter, I just wanted a chat is all. We don't have enough opportunities to just talk."

Davy was still uneasy, if Marilla wanted a chat, why choose the middle of the afternoon, when she knew he was busy. Nevertheless, he did as he was bid, despite towering over her, she was still his mother. "I'm just a bit worried about you, Davy."

"I'm fine," he muttered, annoyed at the situation she had put him in.

"I don't think you are. You're still snapping at people, Matthew in particular," Marilla explained.

"Yes, well I'm still angry at his thoughtlessness."

"Davy, that was weeks ago. He apologised, Millie is recovered, and Connie is thriving. There's something else going on." She looked around for a spot to sit, "come over to that fallen branch with me, I need to get off my feet." Taking her arm, Davy escorted Marilla off the potato field to an elm branch which had fallen during the winter and which he had not had a chance to saw up yet; in fact, he was waiting until Victor returned from Montreal to help him. Once Marilla had sat down and smoothed her skirts she waited for his reply. They could hear a bird calling in the next field, but otherwise it was silent. When his reply was not forthcoming, she continued, "what's troubling you Davy? Tell me, please."

There was a pause then as Davy panicked, his thoughts swirling around his brain. He breathed heavily, realizing that although he thought he'd fooled everyone into believing he was managing, Marilla could see right through him as she had always done. Even when he was a little boy there was seldom any ruse that he could get past her, not that he ever stopped trying. Into the silence, Marilla started speaking, "you know it's a strange thing, I always yearned for children, you know that of course. I longed to have a bairn of my own to cuddle and nurture, I never thought much beyond that really. Babies are easy though, as you well know. It's during the later years that things become tricky."

Before she heard him, she could feel his shoulders heaving, "I thought when I grew up, I'd know everything, I'd have all the answers," Davy sobbed. "I'm floundering Marilla, I don't know how to do this? I just don't know what to do. Matthew misbehaves, and he brings back memories of my worst days. I want to guide him but when I do, I make an even bigger mess of things." He turned to Marilla, anguish writ upon his face. "I just don't know what to do, I think I should just give up some days."

Marilla patted his hand, "there is no doubt in my mind, Davy, that being a parent is the hardest job of all. We want to keep them safe, provide a good example, yet be nurturing. It's a lot to juggle," Marilla paused, thinking of the best way to express herself. "The problem is that there's no instruction manual, we're blind. I used to seek advice from the Bible when you were running me ragged."

"Did it help?"

Marilla laughed, "no, not really. It was just as well Anne came to me first, you know."

"She used to say that to me," Davy admitted.

"She did?" Marilla smiled at him, as a small cloud obscured the sun.

"Yes, she said she softened you up for me," he smiled ruefully.

"Well, I suppose she did. If you had arrived first, I don't know how I could have coped, although I would have had Matthew to help me out. Though I dare say you might have flummoxed him too."

"I was so carefree before, you know, before Tommy died. And now I'm so worried about everything all the time. I wish I could be the father I was before, the one who believed nothing bad could ever happen."

Marilla stood up and took Davy's hand, pulling gently, "come. I think you should talk to the minister."

"No, not him, he'll just quote the Bible at me, that won't help."

"Davy, he's better than that. I find chatting to him very comforting in times of tribulation. If you ask him not to mention the Bible, he won't. Come with me I honestly think he might be beneficial." Reluctantly Davy got to his feet and followed Marilla.

* * *

Thank goodness I've gotten rid of that fool of a man, Alice Guilfoyle thought when her latest husband, Maximillian finally passed away, 'complications' after the house-fire, according to the death certificate. Ha!

Alice had finally realised she was in love with love, or rather lust; rather than men. That first flush of love came upon her so quickly to the detriment of good sense, the upshot would be she was left with a dullard of a husband a year or so later. Looking back, she realised often the subject of her latest infatuation appeared just as her love for her current husband was waning. Not for Alice the long slow drawn out dreary life of the married woman, instead she yearned for that first flush of love however short lived.

That would have been fine and dandy, if the current husband would just let her go, but they never would. It was always the same, he would declare his undying love for her, but by that time her heart would be set upon another, so that the current man was just so much flotsam in her heart. She was forced to act to defend herself, in the truest sense when it came to Sterling. He turned physical when she declared her love for Theodore, smacking her with an open palm across her cheek, the sound reverberating in her ear even as the red-hot poker sensation spread across her cheek. She fell to the floor in at the impact and lay there panting, tears in her eyes, thinking furiously about how to get rid of him.

Theodore was everything to her at that point, even her paramour. He had a little thing he did with his tongue, Alice shivered with delight at the memory… Even when her lust for him faded and her attention turned to Maximillian Guilfoyle, she still recalled that little action. She'd had to teach Maximillian, but good as his technique was, it never quite matched Theodore's.

* * *

Charlottetown Gazette  
12 September

Maximillian Guilfoyle's death  
A Startling Development  
Death from Burns  
His wife committed for trial  
Charlottetown, Tuesday

At an inquest held this morning, before Mr J. M. Looby, coroner, on the body of Maximillian Guilfoyle, who died of his wounds at Bright River on Monday night, his wife Alice Guilfoyle was committed for trial on a charge of murder due to arson. The jury having returned a verdict that the deceased had met his death as the result of burns alleged to have been visited upon him by the accused, who set fire to the house.

* * *

 _Green Gables_

 _Dear Anne_

 _I hope this letter finds you well as it leaves us. Indeed, we are all fighting fit. Poor Rachel suffered a nasty bout of the flu a few weeks ago, as I may have told you. I am happy to report that with Eliza's diligent nursing Rachel is quite recovered. She still finds her stamina much reduced, but we are making sure she takes it easy. I must say it has been a nice chance to reacquaint myself with Eliza, a lovely woman. Of course, I have known her for years, since she was born in fact. But I haven't seen as much of her since she married and moved away to Charlottetown, before you arrived at Green Gables. Eliza is herself a grandmother now, with two small grand babies who keep her greatly occupied. We have had some lovely yarns about our respective grandchildren, laughing over their exploits._

 _Dora is most pleased to report that despite feeling quite unwell during previous pregnancies, she has not been suffering this go round. I don't recall how sick she was when she was pregnant with Sara, but she assures me that I moved in with them as she was so unwell, none of that this time, thankfully. Her belly has started to swell, and Doctor Mustard has advised she let out her corset, an opinion with which I am sure Gilbert would agree. She walks like an expectant woman now her centre of gravity has shifted, and she looks the picture of health. Ralph is delighted with the situation and they are eagerly anticipating meeting this new member of their family._

 _As if one multiple murderer in our midst wasn't bad enough, we now have cause to suspect that we have been living alongside one for many years. You probably don't remember Mrs Guilfoyle, indeed she has had many names along the way. We could refer to her as Mrs Guilfoyle née Emerson, née McFadyen, née Cooper, née Davis! Now that I think about it, we should have been suspicious, five husbands in twenty years is quite the turn around. It may be that many of her husbands' deaths were no accidents. It will be interesting to see this unfold and you can believe that Rachel will have plenty to say about it all. I believe our Mr McIlroy and his new wife, (Matthew's former teacher, Miss Storer) have been instrumental in finding the truth. I was sad when Miss Storer was forced out of her teaching role, but she seems to be thriving as Mrs McIlroy and I make sure to nod in greeting when I see her in town._

 _M. Soigne is still happy at school in Montreal and writes that he has made a new friend, Miss Amelie Bisset. Mme Soigne is happy for her son naturally but reports to me that she has mixed feelings. I know how she feels. The happiness mothers feel when our children find love is tinged with sadness that we may lose them. M. Soigne and his mother have enjoyed a particularly close bond these many years. It is hard for her to accept that he may have bonded with another, despite her knowing that it is for the best. Nevertheless, I do wish M. Soigne all the happiness in the world, he deserves it._

 _John sends his love to you all,_

 _I remain your devoted mother,_

 _Marilla Blythe_

* * *

Private detection was a lonely profession, Hiram never thought love would come his way. Independently wealthy, thanks to his maiden aunt, Augusta, who introduced him to detective mysteries, Hiram eschewed love for the sake of his pursuit of suspicious activity. When he confessed to his family that he wanted to solve mysteries for a living, they mocked him, but Aunt Augusta supported him financially. She had money of her own as her father was an original 49'er, having struck gold in California.

Hiram glanced across the kitchen table thanking his lucky stars that after all this time, he had been proven wrong. It was possible to pursue a satisfying detection career with the woman of his dreams. In his imagination he tipped his hat to his disdainful parents. They never thought he'd amount to anything; it had taken some time, but here he was. Prudence noticed him staring into the middle distance and brought him back to the matter at hand with a small cough. He smiled broadly at her and listened intently to her latest theory, "if she killed three husbands, could she have done it more often?"


	71. Chapter 71 Yellow Duck

**Yellow Duck**

Golden sunlight slanted through the diamond windows, casting chequered light upon the carpet. A stranded blowfly buzzed against the corner, bashing itself against the glass in a state of continual shock at its predicament. Davy sat uncomfortably high on the straight backed, overstuffed chair and watched the fly out of the corner of his eye as Mr Dalrymple the minister droned on about sacrifice and forgiveness.

Mr Dalrymple looked at the man before him, scarred hands clutching the tea cup so tightly, he worried for its survival. He felt as though he might not have Davy's full attention.

Marilla had practically dragged Davy out of the fields before she washed him down like he was still six years old. Now sitting in the minister's overly warm sitting room, his starched collar itched, and he longed to scratch it. Davy caught Marilla's eye; she was looking at him pointedly. "Um, pardon me, could you repeat the question," he said, sensing he'd missed something.

The minister, Mr Dalrymple cleared his throat and repeated, "I said, tell me what's going on."

Davy shot a look of pure panic at Marilla and felt his mouth go dry. Suddenly he needed to use the privy. Standing up, he asked permission to do just that and when the minister nodded, he fled.

"Oh, I am sorry. I'm just so worried about him." Marilla apologised, embarrassed.

"It's no matter," Mr Dalrymple soothed. "If you get a chance you might remind him that God does understand, after all he lost a son too." Marilla nodded, and hurried out to find Davy.

"Davy," she called. "Davy."

"I'm here, sorry Marilla. I just was so uncomfortable in there. I felt I was going to faint."

Marilla looked at him and sighed, scratching her head she took him by the hand and led him back to the buggy. "Mr Dalrymple had some advice for you, he wants you to know that God still loves you. No listen to me," she urged when Davy rolled his eyes. "God does understand, you have to remember that he sacrificed his only son. He understands your heartbreak, your anguish."

"Hmpf," Davy responded after a pause. "But Jesus went to heaven, he's with God now. Doesn't seem like much of a sacrifice."

Marilla looked at him, mouth gaping. He had a point.

* * *

Another golden afternoon greeted Rachel as she drove to the Keith farm. "Mrs Lynde," Davy greeted their old friend warmly, hiding his suspicion. Marilla was really pulling out all the hired guns.

"Davy, darling," Rachel leaned in for a kiss.

"I've really got to get on, Millie should be inside," Davy waved towards the house as he attempted to deflect her.

"No, no, it's you I've come to see. They're all a bit worried about you," she added in a lower voice. "Come and sit down here with me," she said pointing at the house.

"I know they are. But I'm fine, just fine," he muttered in exasperation, following her to the veranda. They sat down on a bench angled towards each other.

"Marilla took you to see the minister?" Rachel enquired, kindly.

"Hm," he replied, not giving much away.

"He didn't ease your concerns?"

"He just banged on about God and all, as I expected he would. He told me God understood cos he lost a son, but I don't think it's the same," Davy trailed off, before adding, "I dunno, he didn't help anyways."

Looking at him suffering, Rachel was taken back to her own fleeting loss of faith. Standing over Katherine's tiny coffin with Thomas by her side, rain slanting sideways in the chill wind, intermingled hot tears and cold water spilling down her cheeks. She felt numb, not merely from the weather. Thomas tried to hold her hand, but she pulled away unobtrusively. No one, not even he, understood the depths of her grief. Even her previously indefatigable faith was of no comfort on that cold winter's day.

The minister intoned the funeral rites. Like any woman of her age, she had been to many funerals, but never one so keenly felt. She listened to the minister's words as he intoned the burial rites for her small child with increasing cynicism. Six! Too young to be called to God. What did God want with her Katherine? Why was He so selfish? Rachel panicked at her dark thoughts, feeling atheism's abyss drawing her in. It was sinful to feel that way, but in her heart of hearts, at that moment it was the truth.

She brought herself back to Davy with a shudder. The poor boy was looking at her curiously. "sorry, I just went … away there for a moment. Your words took me back to a time, when I … I lost my faith."

"You?" Davy gasped. Rachel Lynde was the most devout person he knew, perhaps even more stalwart in her faith than Marilla.

"Davy, any church goer who says they've never had a moment's doubt is most probably lying through their teeth. It doesn't make you any less of a Christian. There is a way back, remember God forgives us our trespasses," she placated him. "When you are ready, he will accept you back."

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," Davy sighed.

"One day perhaps, you will be. I can recall my feeling of panic when I felt that way. He is my rock and to forsake Him made me feel quite bereft."

Davy hung his head, "mmm."

"I know this sounds like a platitude, Davy dear, but life does go on. Your family needs you, remember that," she patted his hand, flinching imperceptibly at the sensation of his uneven skin. Much as she tried, she found it hard to become accustomed to the sight. Inwardly she berated herself, there were more important things, after all. "Just remember, you can talk to me any time. I do understand how you feel, perhaps more keenly than any one else. Although I expect John commiserates too."

"John? How would John know what this feels like?"

"Well Davy, have you ever wondered why Gilbert was an only child?"

"Oh…" Rachel watched as understanding spread across Davy's face. "You mean?"

"Yes, he and Caroline survived their fair share of heartbreak, Davy. You might like to sit down and talk sometime." She patted his hand and they sat back admiring the view until Millie came out with some afternoon tea.

* * *

 _New York Gazette_  
 _18 June 18_ __

 _The sensation loving public is now directing its attention to a murder which is considerably out of the ordinary run. In the first place it was a multiple one, the victims being Messers Davis, Cooper, McFadyen, Emerson and most recently Guilfoyle all of Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, Canada. In the second place the person under suspicion for the murders is their wife, a woman of some forty years. It is considered exceedingly rare for a woman to have five husbands in the course of twenty years._

 _Prosecutors have amassed large dossiers of evidence which implicate Mrs Guilfoyle in all but the first death, that is to say Mr Davis probably died in a train accident. Mr Cooper died of a strange fever, just as he looked upon the brink of recovery, Mr McFadyen in a house fire, Mr Emerson declined most mysteriously and most recently Mr Guilfoyle in yet another house fire._

 _Consider it to say that up to date the case is one of the most sensational that has been known in Canada for years and future developments promise to make it even more sensational than it is at present. Whether guilty or innocent, Mrs Guilfoyle, the accused woman, displays a wonderful amount of nerve in the very trying ordeal through with she is passing. She displays a coolness worthy of a veteran of a hundred battles. She has stood without flinching the questions that were asked at the inquest, though she tripped two or three times and made answers that did not always harmonize with each other. For each day of the inquest she wore a different dress and hat and seemed rather to enjoy the opportunity for displaying her taste in the milliner's and dressmaker's art._

* * *

Running slightly late Rachel forced her not inconsiderable bulk into one of Mrs Boutler's armchairs, Marilla could have sworn she heard the chair groan slightly as Rachel plonked herself down, panting. "Mrs Guil," she swallowed heavily, "implicated … the Avon ladies in her testi." There she gave up as she finally ran out of puff. Instead she sat with the paper resting in her lap, rising up and down as she panted.

"Tea?" offered Mrs Boulter.

"Shall I?" Marilla offered as she plucked the news sheet out of Rachel's lax hands. She took her reading glasses out of her handbag and skimmed for the article. Impatiently, Rachel leant over and stabbed the correct spot.

 _"In her testimony today, Mrs Guilfoyle stated that she may not have killed Mr Guilfoyle without the encouragement of the,"_ here Marilla's voice went up an octave, _"Avonlea Ladies Aid!"_ A shocked inhalation could be heard around the room. Marilla looked up from the text to see every lady's mouth open in a O, their eyes wide open in shock. _"'I didn't really want to do it,' she said, 'but the ladies as good as told me he was worthless.'_ Oh my."

"Well my word."

"My goodness."

"Gracious me."

"Landsakes."

"We'll be laughing stock," could be heard simultaneously from a variety of voices. Marilla couldn't really determine who said what, in any case it was a rather a commotion.

Rachel sat back sipping her tea, upset that Marilla had dropped the bombshell rather than herself, but it couldn't be helped. She hadn't run so far or so fast in years and now she felt all hot and bothered.

Back at Green Gables John sipped his tea and read the same article, whistling in shock at the incendiary information contained therein. He stopped for a moment, cocking his head to the side. "Anything the matter, Mr Blythe?" Mme Soigne enquired.

"I fancy I can hear the shrieks from here," said John mysteriously before he read the offending article out to her. "Mon dieu," Mme Soigne exclaimed, crossing herself.

* * *

It was a warm but overcast day when Millie paid a call. The trees reached overhead creating a verdant tunnel with varied vibrancy. She had always adored summer as much for these colours as the temperature. She came to visit Green Gables today for the opportunity to get out of the house and have Marilla and John spend some time with the children.

They're getting on so well, Millie." Marilla said as she handed over a cup.

"Thank you. No Artie, you cannot have my coffee, drink your milk, please," Millie used one hand to keep him at bay.

"Come and talk to me, Artie," John said to distract him and give his mother a chance to drink in peace. "What have you got there?" John enquired.

"Bock," Artie stated with determination.

"You've got a block. What colour is it?"

"Ded."

"That's right, red. It's a red block isn't it, Artie." John then pointed to the bowl on the mantelpiece, "and what colour is that, Artie?"

"Boo."

"Yes, it's a blue bowl isn't it. What's this, Artie?"

"F*ck."

"Oops," said Millie ruefully. "He's still getting his tongue around his D's."

John smirked up at Marilla. "Yes, it's a _duck_ isn't it. What colour is the duck?"

"Lello."

"He's better at his colours than his words, isn't he?" Marilla commented dryly. She turned her attention to the baby, "this one is very chatty too," she looked straight into Connie's face and beamed at the baby as she gurgled, smiled and blew bubbles. "I've never been a fan of baby talk," remarked Marilla to Millie. "Anne used to use it on her babes, but it's never been my way," she turned her attention back to the baby, smiling broadly with affection.


	72. Chapter 72 Ghostly Echoes

**Ghostly Echoes**

Thomas Lynde always joked he was the most informed man in Avonlea. Not that he retained all the gossip his wife shared by any means, yet quite a bit filtered through. He knew when couples quarrelled, when babies were born, when a man proposed. He knew when family came to visit; when people were sick, when finally, they succumbed.

Rachel would pour it all out to him when they were sitting at the table or later in bed. It was quite useful really, he barely had to speak at all. Sometimes she would ask him his opinion if it was particularly contentious, but otherwise she assumed he agreed with her.

"That Marilla Cuthbert is too stubborn that's what." Rachel blurted out when he picked her up one afternoon while they were still courting. Thomas looked at her askance, thinking Marilla isn't the only one. "She's only gone and quarreled with John. I heard all about it."

"Well now that's a shame," was Thomas' only comment when it appeared John and Marilla were broken up for good. He was sorry and he felt guilty matching the two together at his and Rachel's wedding, but John was his best friend and Marilla Rachel's so it was inevitable. Thomas heard later that Marilla fell ill at the party and no wonder.

* * *

He listened with interest decades later when Rachel burst into the kitchen announcing that the Cuthberts had adopted a boy of all things. Then he smiled when the boy turned out to be a lovely red-headed girl. Good, he thought only half listening to Rachel's anguish; just what Marilla and Matthew need, a young girl to liven the place up. And liven it up she did. Thomas watched with interest as Marilla and Matthew came back to life, they had become too set in their ways. But children he thought, children exasperated and questioned all you took for granted. "Yes dear," and "goodness" may have been his only reply, but he thought more than he said.

Rachel loved babies. She loved their milky smell, their soft downy hair, the curve of their little biceps, their chubby cheeks. The tiny burp they gave after they'd nursed. The way she and she alone could comfort them when they were distressed. Rachel prided herself on her role as mother and mourned acutely as each one left home. When their youngest Maggie departed in a wave of happiness her new husband on her arm, there was just she and Thomas left to rattle around the family home. Rachel kept up a constant patter of news which Thomas seemed only to half listen to most of the time. With the children gone she needed the stimulation town gossip provided. If it were quiet in town, there was always the newspaper to keep her entertained. The children knew of her fascination with the world's goings on and could be relied upon to send her the latest edition.

Henpecked they called him as if they were not equals? Rachel adored Thomas and admired and respected his opinions. To the world he presented as a mild man, but they enjoyed a passionate relationship in the bed obviously, but in other ways too. He always had an opinion which he would offer in his mild manner, for the most part she would listen to him. Of course as any couple must, they had their arguments over the years, but she mourned his passing and missed him dreadfully.

Her habit of always talking to Thomas was firmly entrenched, his untimely death no deterrence. It was comforting to talk to him as if he were there, even stopping to _listen_ to his answers when necessary. The worst thing was that the pretence fell over at bedtime. They no longer went to bed together and she lay in her big cold bed alone wishing they were playing footsies.

Thomas had _approved_ of Marilla's reacquaintance with John Blythe and was even happier when they married. On that blessed day, she fancied she could see him in the corner witnessing their joyous nuptials. In the midst of the celebrations that day Anne had noticed how Rachel smiled in the direction of an empty corner and wondered if she was all right.

When Rachel was told Tommy's name she had to bustle out of the room for a moment, a tear in her eye. She was touched that Davy and Millie would name their boys after two such gentle men despite having never met them. That it was Tommy who died in the tragic accident was a terrible blow. Davy's children were like her very own grandchildren, almost closer in a way due to their proximity.

Rachel paused as if to listen to an answer, then said. "Well Thomas, Marilla is going through a tough time that's what." She fancied she could see his raised eyebrows. She was seeking his advice on the best way to help Davy Keith. Thomas had never met Davy but he had fathered his share of sons and lost a couple, so Rachel felt he could lend some advice. "What do you think I should do?" she asked him.

Well, he eventually said. I suspect the best thing is remind them they are not alone.

"Not alone?"

Yes. Just let them all know you are there for them, not merely Davy but Millie and Matthew too.

Rachel nodded, "Just so, hopefully they'll come to me when they're ready. As ever Thomas you are wise, even if you are no longer with us."

* * *

 _Ha ha ha haaaaa ... aaa_ As Rachel washed her plate in the quiet kitchen the ghostly laughs and bickering of her ten departed children, now spread out across the country, echoed in her mind. She fancied if she turned around, she'd see them all there. Their expectant faces looking adoringly up at her as she ladled dinner into their bowls. Rachel shuddered and muttered "mustn't get maudlin." She set out the baking things, eggs, freshly churned butter, flour, sugar. A plum cake today she thought as she rummaged around the pantry looking for summer preserves.

The batter ready, she poured it into the greased cake tin and popped the lot into the oven, glancing up at the clock as she did so. Plenty of time for a cup of tea before she tackled the dishes. In the old days a daughter would do the chore for her, having licked the spoon first. Perhaps Louisa or Maggie would grin up at her with batter-smeared lips; now she was all alone.

Lynde Hollow was practically silent, just the noise of the clock ticking and the odd crackle as a log settled in the fire; it was rather comforting to stand on Davy and Millie's doorstep and listen to the familiar family noise within. The boys squabbling over who had the favourite spot at the table, the baby grizzling. It took her back to her motherhood in its joyous muddle. She rapped sharply on the door surmising correctly that a soft tap would go unheard. There was a pause as Davy made his way to the front door then, "Mrs Lynde?"

"Davy, Millie, boys," she said with a smile. "I brought you a cake."

"Oh, you're too kind."

"Now Davy," she said as they sat at the table. "Have you had a chance to chat to John as I suggested?"

"Um," Davy cast his eyes downward.

"No, I thought as much. Now I'll take care of the children, off you go, the two of you. He may have some advice for you. Advice that might help."

* * *

Marilla greeted them at the door and invited them in. Once in the parlour they sat on the comfortable couches. Davy explained that Rachel had as good as forced them there, that she thought John might have some advice to help them through their current situation. Marilla quietly supported John, gently holding his hand as he told his story, recounting Caroline's inability to carry a baby.

"Oh John, I am so sorry, it sounds devastating," Millie said with tears in her eyes. Truth to tell she had never thought about why Gilbert was an only child.

"Then how?" Davy asked. "How could you bear to let Gilbert out of your sight, when he, when he was older? I can't imagine letting Matthew be independent.

John caressed his coffee cup. Tracing his thumb around its rim he took a shaky breath and looked Davy in the eye. "It's the hardest thing, the hardest thing," he repeated quietly. "You have to let them go," he said with a sad smile.

"But what if if…?" Davy urged.

"Yes," John said, interrupting him before he finished the thought. "That's the problem but you have no choice."

* * *

"You know," said Marilla at bedtime when John was helping her with her stays. "You are rather marvellous."

"Well naturally," replied John with a grin.

"Oh you," she swatted him. "No, I'm serious, you are. You've adopted my family as your own. The way you talked to Davy and Millie today."

"Ah well, you're not so bad yerself, Mrs Blythe. Considering how quiet it was around here for all those years. It's no small thing to adopt all those children when you were old."

"Old was I!" She bridled.

"Shush woman, I'm just teasing," or at least that's what Marilla thought he said, at the time he was trailing small kisses up the nape of her neck so his voice was muffled. Mollified somewhat she let his comments be as she melted into his chest.

* * *

The next day Marilla paid a visit to Rachel's house, they had planned to do some cooking together as they often did when the preserves had to be laid down. Today it was Marilla's crop of plums, the kitchen redolent with the sweet aroma of cooked fruit. Jam boiled with steady plopping telling their experienced ears that all was going well as they sat down to a well-deserved cup of tea.

"So, it looks like she'll hang then?" Marilla said with regards to Mrs Guilfoyle's murder trial.

"A terrible business," Rachel replied as she sipped her tea. "Just terrible."

Marilla shook her head, "all those men. I mean what was she thinking?"

"She was thinking she could get away with it, that's what."

"She succeeded, for a long time at least," Marilla shook her head in shock, her hands cradled around her cup.

"It was that Mr McIlroy who brought it to the police's attention was it not?" Rachel asked.

"Exactly, and Mrs McIlroy," Marilla replied with a smile.

"Our ex Avonlea teacher, she's done well for herself," Rachel said without guile.

Marilla snorted, "not that you approved."

"You're not implying that once she was tarnished, she could still teach, are you? Marilla Blythe, you surprise me."

"Oh Rachel, I don't know. She was an excellent teacher, that's all I know. She was so good to Matthew after Tommy died. Very kind and caring. I'm not so sure of this new chap. There's more to teaching than just the three R's."

"Another cup?" asked Rachel picking up the teapot and changing the subject. "Did you have a good talk with Davy and Millie?"

"Yes, it was beneficial," replied Marilla thoughtfully as she nodded towards her cup. "I do believe Davy looked more at peace when they left."

"I hope so dear. They've had a terrible time," Rachel leant over and patted Marilla's hand. The tone of the plopping changed alerting Rachel to test its consistency, "I think it's done. Are the jars ready?"

* * *

"I wish you could enjoy this jam, Thomas dear. You always did enjoy the plum." Rachel said to the empty room after Marilla had taken her leave. Sighing she collected the teacups and poured some water for their washing, rather envying Marilla her chaotic family; at least she had company.


	73. Chapter 73 Half the Man

With thanks to **Alinyaalethia, OriginalMcFishie** and **AnneWithAnEStory.**

For **kslchen** who wanted more Lynde family stories and **Burcu** who needs a smile.

* * *

"Hey Ma, remember how Pa used to tickle us when we were little?"

"Don't tell me you really remember?" Rachel asked John in disbelief.

"Well I don't remember him doing it to me exactly, but I watched him do it to the others and he told me he used to do it to me too. Remember his index finger was Hermina the mouse. Hermina was married to Tom, his middle finger. They had all kinds of adventures while proceeding to tickle us," John said. "Those mice used to nest in my armpit and then go hunting for cheese."

"For such a quiet man he had a great sense of humor and he did love all his babies, that's for sure and certain," said Rachel with a tear in her eye.

"I didn't mean to make you unhappy," John said sadly.

Rachel looked up at him with a smile on her face, "oh no dear. That's all right. We should be able to talk about him happily. He was such a presence in all our lives, wasn't he?"

* * *

Rachel had come to visit John and his wife Grace, their daughter Jane had recently given birth to Rachel's latest great grandchild, Maggie; a bonnie wee baby with bright blue eyes and a shock of dark brown hair above dimpled cheeks. John knew only too well how much his mother adored babies, so they had invited her over to stay with them for a few weeks. John figured she must get lonely in Lynde Hollow, rattling around the old family home all by herself.

She had arrived in a spray of good wishes the previous day, accompanied by numerous trunks, and had settled into the spare bedroom. The grandchildren crowded around them hoping for treats. Naturally they were not disappointed; she had something for everyone. One trunk contained nothing but preserves for their mother. Grace had muttered to John, "she obviously doesn't think much of my cooking prowess." But John had soothed Grace, reminding her that it was just Rachel's way. She never liked to be beholden to anyone, this was just her way of paying for her board.

"Tell me about … what were they called Tom and Herm…? Grace asked.

"Hermina. I don't know where he got that name from? It was always Hermina and Tom. He'd tell us involved stories about their various adventures. They were pretty close, but sometimes they argued; then the tickling got quite intense. We would roar with laughter, trying to squirm away. It was just his thing."

"That sounds so lovely. I wish my father had been so playful," Grace said wistfully.

Rachel sat by, nursing her cup of coffee on her lap, smiling gently at the story. "I used to get a bit annoyed actually. He'd start on at it around bedtime and get you all riled up. Far too excited for sleep," she said thinking back.

"I can imagine," Grace replied. "Just when you want them slowing down."

"Exactly," Rachel replied. "They'd be jumping up and down asking for more and I'd be there in the back, exasperated. If only I'd known how short lived that stage was, I would have encouraged it instead," she said, nostalgically.

"How about the time we found out that Robin got the hymn mixed up?" John said in an attempt to lighten the mood. Tickling wasn't supposed to make people sad.

"Oh yes dear, what was it? Not bringing in the shears, but?"

"Bringing in the _cheese_. I'll never forget him singing it lustily next to me. I got the giggles and I think even Pa's moustache started wriggling."

"So embarrassing. He was so loud with it too. I could just feel the neighbours staring at us," Rachel laughed. "He was a dear boy, little Robin."

Grace could picture her broad-shouldered brother in law. The thought of him being described as _little_ was amusing.

Rachel picked up the baby. She never felt quite complete without a babe in her arms, as if she were naked somehow. Maggie fussed a bit, but soon feel asleep in her great grandmother's gentle hold. Rachel sat rocking the baby gently, feeling all was well in her world. She looked at John as another funny memory came to mind. At her smile he asked, "what?"

She laughed at that, "oh I just remember the time I was changing James when he was just wee, his umbilical cord had came off in his diaper. Eliza was watching over my shoulder and gasped, then pointed at him and asked if that would come off too. I had to explain," she said with a fond smile.

"Just as well, John said grinning, "don't want to lose _that."_

Grace blushed. It was strange to hear her husband talk about intimate things with his mother.

"That's just what your father said," Rachel replied with a twinkle in her eyes.

* * *

Later that afternoon, when Maggie had been placed in her bassinet for a proper sleep; Rachel, Grace and Jane sat outside on the veranda in the dappled sunlight, talking about motherhood in general. "It's all those funny little moments that seemed so monumental at the time, but which are quite insignificant really that I miss," said Rachel quietly, her hands folded in her lap. They had eaten a lovely lunch and now she was sleepy.

"Are you feeling quite well, Mother Lynde," Grace asked kindly.

"You know I am a bit weary. Still recovering from the journey, I guess." Rachel said with a sigh. "It is quite a distance."

"Why don't you have a lie down before dinner? Jane and I can manage the baby.

Grace led the way, pulling down the blankets and helping Rachel take off her boots. Rachel lay down on the soft bed with thoughts of her small fry dancing around her mind as she gently drifted off.

"Is she all right? Jane asked her mother.

"Just old is all. She hardly ever leaves Avonlea these days, I expect the journey tuckered her out."

Louisa had come to tea with her lot that evening and Rachel was delighted to see her. Louisa lived not far away, she and John kept in close touch. Talk turned once again, as it so often did, to Thomas. This time Louisa was able to tell them about the time he took to calling her Carrots. "because I ate a lot of carrots."

"That's right, you wolfed them down. I couldn't keep up with you. We were secretly worried you'd go a bit orange actually, that can happen."

Louisa looked up shocked and examined her hand closely. "No I think you were all right, but at the time..." Rachel laughed. "So Pa took to calling you Carrots. Makes me laugh because much later on there was another girl who got that nickname, but for other reasons. She was less happy about it."

"Can't think why, I quite liked it," Louisa. "Everyone had their thing didn't they and mine was that."

"Apart from carrots, you were a pretty picky eater as I recall," John said out of the blue. "I had to tell you long and involved stories to take your mind off your dinner. Do you remember?"

"You were a great help to me dear," Rachel looked at him fondly. "I was far too busy to stop and make sure you ate, Louisa."

"Sorry Ma," she said regretfully.

"Don't be silly, it's all a long long time ago. One picky eater out of eleven is pretty good going. You just started getting very thin as I recall and I realised eventually that you weren't getting much food in you. The rest of them would gulp it all down and you'd sit back and watch them."

"I think I was hungry, I just wanted to take my time was all. And then of course it would all be gone."

* * *

 _Dearest Marilla,_

 _I pray this letter finds you safe as it leaves me._

 _Well after a longer journey than I am used to, I was greeted by John and Grace looking young for grandparents. It is a strange thing when one's own children gain that title themselves. What would Thomas have said?_

 _We have been enjoying a lovely catch up. The baby is particularly sweet. I promise it's not merely that I am biased, it is the truth plain and simple. She is one of the bonniest babes I have ever seen. All right, I am sure you are raising your eyebrows in that manner I know so well dearest Marilla. But then if a great grandmother cannot blather on about her progeny, what good is there in the world?_

 _Everyone is well and send their love to you both. I have been keeping them up to date with your news. They hope and pray that Davy & Millie will find peace soon and that Dora is safely delivered in due course. _

_I have been enjoying a good catch up with John and Grace. We have been enjoying swapping stories from when the children were all young. He was recalling the time the older ones fetched up at Green Gables when Katherine was taken ill. I am sure I said it at the time, but you really were a Godsend that dreadful week. Just to have the space to nurse wee Katherine without worrying about the rest of them was very beneficial my dear. It was such a long time ago, but she will always have a place in my heart._

 _John said the other night that you and Matthew coped very well with them all. He understands now, as he did not at the time, what an incredibly generous gesture it was on your part. It is no easy thing to take on numerous, boisterous small fry for a week, especially when you are unaccustomed. He still remembers what a happy week they had, despite worrying about their little sister. No mean feat indeed._

 _I will finish up here as I can hear them calling me to dinner,_

 _I remain your good friend,_

 _With love and best wishes,_

 _Rachel Lynde_

* * *

"Hey remember that dog, Shep was it?" John asked. Rachel groaned, putting her face in her hands. Grace looked at John askance. "Yes, Shep, that was it. Shep the shoe stealing dog. You loved that dog, Ma."

Rachel sighed, "I did, until… All those shoes," she shook her head.

"What now?" Grace asked. "I thought I'd heard all the stories."

"We had a sheep dog, part pet, part worker. Pa usually never let them be both, but this one managed to become a much-loved part of the family. He had such soft eyes, didn't he Ma?"

Rachel was silent, her mouth just slightly turned up at the corners. She nodded. "Anyway, one Sunday morning someone, maybe Davy?"

"It was James," interrupted Rachel.

John looked across at her nodding, "James couldn't find a shoe as we were going out to church. He got into a bit of trouble for it, as I recall." Rachel cast her eyes downwards, feeling guilty about that long-ago moment when her patience left her. "Then it was Louisa's turn the next morning. She lost a shoe and we were all late for school. Happened a few more times before we got suspicious."

"Did you find the shoes?" Grace asked anxiously.

"Eventually," John explained. "It was the dog." Rachel shook her head despairingly.

"Robin found the dog hovering over a big mess of left shoes, partially covered with dung, in the back of the barn."

"So expensive," muttered Rachel as she shook her head.

"You gave him the walloping of its life, as I recall," John said with a smile.

"He deserved it, he betrayed me. All that love I lavished upon it. Well no more, or so I thought at the time. And then none of you would wear the shoes again, not that I completely blamed you, so we had to buy multiple pairs. It was a lean time."

* * *

The next day John took his mother for a walk around town, eager to show her all the sights. They got to reminiscing as they usually did. "Pa was always so meticulous in the barn, remember? Everything had its place."

"Yes, he was fastidious with his tools," Rachel replied. "Said they were an investment and needed to be cared for."

"Yes, and if we borrowed them and didn't put them back, clean, in the right spot there'd be hell to pay."

"Hell? That's a bit strong. Did he ever raise a hand to any of you children?"

"Well, no," John replied, "he'd go quiet. Actually, that was worse. Then I knew I'd disappointed him. I used to help him in the barn, that was always a nice time for us both, chatting, telling jokes. He always gave good advice, too," John thought meditatively.

"That he was dear, that he most certainly was," Rachel patted her son's hand. "What advice did he give, pray tell?"

"Just about girls and things you know, young love."

Rachel smiled, "you had a few girls hanging around before Grace didn't you. Who was that girl, the one with the golden hair; so pretty in looks, but not in personality?"

"Jenny Callahan," John said reluctantly. The memory of her behavior toward him was still a bit painful.

"Jenny Callahan, yes that's the one. She was not the right one for you dear."

John shook slightly, "no she most definitely was not. When did you know Pa was the one, Ma?"

Rachel looked at him thinking back, her face went blank as her mind went back to that time. She blinked coming back to him. "Oh, that's easy, the moment he defended me at school."

"He defended you? From whom?"

"Oh, just some mean boy, I think they moved away, I can barely recall his name now. Anyway, that doesn't matter. He said something unkind to me and your father leapt to my defense. I admit I hadn't taken much notice of him before that, but in that moment I thought, this will be the boy I marry. And so I did," Rachel finished determinedly. "And I never regretted my decision, not once."

* * *

John's second daughter, Kate paid a visit the following day. Her children were a bit older, they tumbled around the parlor playing with toys and generally getting into the sort of muddle Rachel adored. When one knocked the coffee table nearly sending the tea tray flying, Grace decided to move the tea party outside. Kate's children were a bit too rambunctious for inside play. Kate helped Rachel out of the low-slung couch, and they followed Grace out into the sunshine. The children tumbled out joyfully, running around hooting, darting back for the odd cookie now and then.

"Grace sighed, "that's a bit nicer isn't it. I could barely hear myself think."

Rachel had to agree it was quieter and the children certainly seemed happier outside, but she rather liked their tumbledown play even if they knocked the afternoon tea about. Still it was interesting how one's perspective changed when you were not directly responsible for their behaviour.

* * *

As each of them settled in bed that night they all thought back to their kind father, grandfather or lover respectively.

Rachel remembered their wedding night. He had been so kind, yet passionate. They were so eager to get rid of their guests, Rachel's mother had thought them rather rude, even as she understood their fervent desire. She said as much to Rachel's father but he brushed her concerns aside, saying, "everyone understands, it's a special night." Rachel naturally knew nothing of that exchange and would not have cared either way; she was somewhat preoccupied at the time. Thomas had attended to her so sweetly, so tenderly she had wept with joy afterwards. Rachel drifted off to sleep dreaming that she was in his arms again.

John's dream recalled a sweet moment when he could have sworn he saw Father Christmas. It was late on Christmas Eve and although he knew objectively that it had been his own father he still retained a little nugget of the magic of that night as he fancied he heard sleigh bells and reindeer on the roof. His father had even hoisted him up on his shoulders to get a better look.

Eliza way over in Winnipeg dreamt of her father pelting her with snowballs on her way home from school one afternoon. It had snowed hard all that night and she was just getting home after a long school day when _whack_ out of nowhere she was nearly bowled over by a wet splat on her shoulder. She looked around in shock and heard her father's familiar cackle. "Pa!" She dropped her books and stooped to gather a ball of her own.

It was all over in a manner of moments, icy water tracking down their backs, her Pa called truce and pulled her in for a hug, saying, "sorry, I just couldn't resist." The smell of his snow spattered coat stayed with her for a long time.

* * *

The next morning they all awoke in a post-dream fugue, happy that he had featured as he infrequently did. Rachel mentioned that she had dreamed about him, but not what it had consisted of. John looked up from his bowl of oatmeal, in shock, "goodness Ma, me too." He described his, adding thoughtfully, "I'll never forget how tall I felt when I was up on his shoulders."

"He was a wonderful father, that's what," Rachel said contentedly.

"If I'm half the man he was, I'll be content," John replied. Rachel squeezed his hand, thinking he was doing a wonderful job so far.


End file.
